Like Glass
by SeraSearaSpin
Summary: The G8 have been kidnapped by vicious aliens, leaving the others just one week to bargain for their release. If the deadline is broken, the Earth will be destroyed. As the week goes along, tension is further added by more abductions. Back on the ship, the aliens keep themselves amused during the wait by 'having fun' with the nations. Rated M for violence and gore.
1. The Beginning

It was instantaneous.

The sky was clear.

And there was a blink and an instant later, it was dark, dark like the inside of a black honeycomb pushing out. Just past the reach of the clouds were hexagonal black spaceships, just hovering silently, ominously.

After people shot at them, and blew their voices through loudspeakers and megaphones, and flashed lights at them, nothing happened.

So they called a meeting. Just the eight of them.

America spoke first. "What is it then? Are they aliens?"

"You would know if it was aliens, wouldn't you," muttered England sullenly.

Germany looked up, choosing tactfully to ignore England's comment. "If they are aliens, they aren't hurting anything yet, but they're blocking out our sunlight. Maybe intentionally. Soon, the crops will die, and then we'll have to fall back on other things."

"And then there will be no more pasta!" wailed Italy suddenly, waking up just as suddenly from a nap.

"Hush," said Germany, and continued. "Maybe we could somehow speak to them-"

"Pfft, you saw how well that worked." America scoffed.

Germany glared.

"We don't even know if those are aliens, aru." said China.

"Well what else would it be? An evil cloud?" retorted America.

"We should kill them!" said Russia cheerfully.

"I do not think that would be a good idea," said Japan, slightly nervously, since Russia looked ready to brain someone with his pipe.

"What if they're like the Pictonians?" asked France.

"They're _not_ like the Pictonians, you idiot! The Pictonians' ships were glowing, you fool!" yelled England.

And they were fighting again in a ruffle of dust. Italy was dozing and murmuring 'Pasta!' in his sleep. Russia was furtively eyeing the back of Japan's head as if measuring it for a pipe shaped dent. England and France were trying to rip eachother's heads off. Another meeting was degenerating into chaos. As usual.

Also as usual, Germany had to retake control by shouting at them. "SHUT UP AND LISTEN, YOU DUMKOPFS!" Then he lapsed into German and cursed at them.

Surprisingly, they subsided back into their seats, England and France exchanging a glare.

The meeting ended half an hour later after no worthwhile suggestions were made, but everyone was disinclined to head home, what with the ominous hexagons of darkness floating around. They were all hanging out in the lobby of the meeting building, generally making a mess of themselves.

America's phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at this. "Hey, guys, you may wanna see this…"

Something in his voice must've tipped the others off, because they stopped what they were doing and crowded around the tiny screen, where a blond announcer spoke in a tinny voice about the aliens.

"…now showing a live scene above New York." The screen cut to an image of a single dark hexagon descending out of the bunch, showing a patch of clear blue sky before it was quickly hidden by the rest.

Curious to see something, France whipped out his own phone.

England gaped at it. "Why," he asked, "does your phone cover have a scantily clad woman on it?"

Tapping in the password, France smirked. "Ah, you like? We'll make a man of you yet."

England looked ready to sock France in the eye, but then France frowned and said, "It is happening here, too! In beautiful France! How strange."

China drew his own phone out of his pocket also, and said, "And here also, aru!"

Slowly, the others took out their phones and dialed into the nearest news broadcast. The same thing was happening; a lowered hexagon above a city.

And then, each hexagon on each screen started to glow, increasing in brightness until it hurt their eyes.

"That's strange," said Russia. "It's almost like it's going to explode."

The nations' eyes widened.

"Holy sh-" began America.

Then the boom, white-hot, like a spray of acid, burning efficiently through muscle and sinew and bone- It was pain beyond what they could imagine, though that capacity would soon be increased.

And then it was gone in the instant it came, leaving them shaky and pale.

"What the hell?" England shouted, his face shocked and angry. "Not friendly!" hollered America. "SHOOT AT THEM!" he bawled into his phone. "Kill them," hissed Russia, his purple aura flickering eerily.

Italy was sobbing inconsolably, waving his hands around, and shouting. Germany's face was tight as he comforted his friend. "Verdammt," he murmured softly, running one hand through his hair so it stood on end.

For once France was at a loss for words, and he braced himself against the wall, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Japan muttered something no one caught. China was trying to lure his panda, which had retreated completely into the bag and was refusing to come out.

But then, of course, there was trouble. France seemed to have regained the capacity for speech, and he fluffed his hair in the reflection of his phone and skipped over to the nearest person, which happened to be England. "Your eyebrows are all poofy." France took out what appeared to be hairspray and squirted it at those bizarre sculptures of hair.

England glowered, and then shouted, "AREN'T YOU THE LEAST BIT WORRIED AT ALL? WE WERE JUST FREAKING ELECTROCUTED OR SOMETHING!" All the while rubbing his stinging eyes. France laughed, which enabled England to locate him and kick him where the familiar rose was normally pinned.

France fell over, and England laughed before stomping to the other side of the room, passing America, who was having a panic attack, staring into the screen of his phone.

"Th-there's _more?_ Why aren't the tanks blowing anything up? Aa! Mmf! Mrarf!" At that point, he'd started shoving hamburgers into his mouth.

"What do you mean, there's more, aru?" China, having failed to coax out his panda, walked over to America.

America said something along the lines of, "Rargels hrath kkinch lornk! Rdee?" He held out his phone.

"_What, aru?_" asked China in annoyance.

America repeated the unintelligible sounds.

While China was yelling at America, Japan went to the window and looked out. "Why does nobody seem to be as worried as I am?"

Germany joined him at the window. "I don't know. I know_ I'm _worried."

"Why are we all still here? Why haven't any of us left for our homes yet?"

"Safety in numbers?" suggested Germany weakly.

"Indeed. I do not understand it. Is it on an instinctual level that we stay congregated, or is it a conscious decision? I know for sure that Italy would probably go over to your house."

Germany flushed a little. "He does that anyway. I can't control it."

Speaking of Italy, the pasta-obsessed nation ran up to him. "England's scaring me! And Russia pulled something out of his pipe that he's eating that looks weird! America's trying to eat all my pasta! Germany, I'm scared! And also France is starting to take his clothes off and pin a rose to his privates again, and China's bonking his head into the wall! And my shoe is untied! Germanyyyyy! Fix it!"

Germany looked around the room. England was talking to a patch of air, and France was nearly in his run-around-and-grope-people stage. America was staring hungrily at a bowl of pasta on the table, and Germany went over there first to settle the dispute before it worsened.

Japan turned back to the window. "Why are we all still here?" he inquired of his reflection. Then he answered himself. "Because we're afraid, aren't we? This is different than anything that's come before. It'll change us."

His phone buzzed, interrupting his contemplation. Idly, he pulled it out and stared at the screen. China, who'd stopped hitting himself in the head, wandered over after seeing Japan's expression. "What is it, aru?"

Mutely, Japan tilted the screen towards China, whose eyes widened. A string of (probably rude) Chinese words came flying out of his mouth, and the other people drew out their phones immediately to see what was happening.

Russia was the first one to comment. "We are all going to die, da~?"

Because the entire sky was filled with black hexagons, and they were glowing.

"It was nice knowing you, Italy." said Germany, clapping the other on the shoulder. Italy looked up, clueless, still having not caught on. "What do you mean by that, Germany?"

England had taken out his phone last, because he had been distracted by that patch of air. "Aw, bloody hell. Can't we catch a break?"

And then their blood was turned to fire that chewed through them, dropping them to their knees. They felt the humans living on their land die in the thousands, and they felt the pain of each and every one. It was like a fist of acid had rammed their organs into different shapes, squeezed them and melted their bones until-

Italy dropped first, juts falling to the ground. A mostly-unclothed France fell, but fortunately his shirt and pants were still clenched tightly in his hand. England watched his otherworldly friends dart around his head until his vision burst into spots, and then darkened. China and Japan collapsed at the same time. Then America. Russia. Germany. All mere instants after the other.

The world was dark as midnight, because the sun was gone from everywhere, blocked out by the ships.

Nobody saw the ceiling of the building ripped off by a lime green beam of light, like an old-timey movie. Or the largest hexagon shooting out something that appeared to be eight amber bubbles that circled around the unconscious nations, and lifted them into the air.

None of them saw, because they were in the place past midnight. It was very dark indeed.

* * *

**A/N: Please review, or at least tell me what you don't like about it. Or just even say hi :D**


	2. Down the Rabbit Hole

Since Italy was out first, he woke up first, covered head-to-toe in a gloppy, tar-like substance. So the obvious thing for him to do was screech loudly.

"GERMANYYYYYY~!"

Scraping brown crud off his face, he scurried around to the other sticky bodies that were lying on the ground, shaking them. One sat up right as Italy went to shake him, which scared him half to heck.

"Italy? Is that you?" It was France.

Italy perked up. "Big brother France?"

France ignored him as he entered a state of panic. "Aieee! Look at my hair! I'm ruined! No longer will these beauteous golden locks fall gently over my shoulder! RUINED, I SAY, RUINED!" He burst into tears.

England sat up next and put a hand to his head, pulling it away suddenly as he felt the brown substance. "Eugh. What is this stuff? France, did you do this?"

China sat up next, followed by Japan. "I see that we are all covered in this stuff." Said Japan placidly.

"Where's my panda?" China had noticed the loss of his bag. "He's gone, aru!"

"What happened?" America groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Did we kill them?"

"Are we dead?" asked Russia, who was propped up on his elbows.

"Germany!" crowed Italy, who ran over to the other nation as he woke up.

"Verdammt, that hurt." he muttered, holding his head. Then he asked the first reasonable question. "Where are we?"

A cold gray room, with no definite light source and a rather high ceiling. As they squinted up at it, freezing liquid rained down on them.

"Aiyaa!" shouted China, covering his head with his hands. In seconds they were all soaked and shivering. But as the cold liquid cut through them, the tar melted off of them like oil and slid away, dissolved by the liquid.

Then it shut off.

"I'm f-freezing," said France, sliding back into his clothes and shivering miserably.

"It's not so bad," said Russia, cheerful as ever, though his coat was soaked. "It's like home, da?"

"For you, maybe," muttered England, pulling his soggy clothes tighter around himself."

"Does it not rain a lot at your place?" inquired Japan.

"Not this cold!" snapped England in response.

With a sudden, grinding, mechanical groan, a hold opened in the middle of the floor. All conversations stopped as they turned to stare.

"That's weird," said America, who was closest. "I can't see the-"

With hiss and another creak, the eight walls of the room moved inwards, confining the nations to a precariously small ledge. "Aieee!" said Italy as he lost his balance, threatening to tumble into the hole. Germany stretched out his arm and caught him, pulling him back to safety.

"Not cool!" hollered America and banged his hands on the walls.

With that, the walls stopped moving and the sounds of mechanisms around them fell silent. There was a momentary silence.

"Well, this is cozy," said France, who'd ended up pressed up against England.

England roared and turned around, fists swinging.

Which disrupted everyone else so thoroughly they fell shouting down the hole.


	3. The Aliens

There was barely enough time for Italy to loose a scream before they landed

The hole closed above them, plunging them into darkness. The air was thick and chemical scented, and it choked them whenever they opened their mouths. So they breathed through their noses and lay there in the silence, feeling vulnerable.

Italy crawled around patting faces until he found a face that felt like Germany's. He grabbed the other nation's arm. A moment passed, and then Japan felt his hand being gathered up by Italy's. Normally, he would pull away after a moment, but in the oppressive darkness, any comfort was welcome.

Someone sneezed, and then started gagging on the air. There was the muffled sound of someone hitting that someone on the back to help them clear their lungs. Then all was silent again, aside from the drip of water off of cold faces and the shuffling sounds of people moving about.

Suddenly, the floor moved with the same mechanical sounds, pulling them along until there was a clang and they were ungracefully deposited into a room. The lights were blinding after their time in the dark, and China shielded his eyes with one hand as he tried to make sense of their surroundings.

_It's much too bright, aru! _he thought. As his eyes adjusted, he picked out four tall figures. _Four,_ he thought, and shivered. _The number of death._ And that was before he even truly _saw_ them.

The aliens were tall, with shark-belly pale skin. Six unfeeling, cold black eyes were located on the oblong, hairless head, and a thin scorpion-like tail with a wicked-looking stinger bent over one shoulder. Their mouths were even more freakish. A downwards-facing V of dark crimson, with needle-like teeth and two horizontal mandibles clacking in front of them. Their arms reached to their knees, and were tipped with ebony claws that scraped the floor. As he watched, one alien who was obviously in command stepped forwards and sheathed one claw, drawing it back into the center of its palm and onwards up its arm. It gestured at a burly pair of aliens, who were much taller than the one remaining in the group. Then the claw shot out again.

They were horrible. And yet they moved with a feline grace that belied their size. These things were at least seven feet tall, and the ones he'd begun to think of as guards were even taller.

The nations all stood, gaping. A bead of water rolled off of England's face and spattered on the floor. America reacted first, rage in his blood.

"Why'd you kidnap us, you weirdos? What dud we do?" He rushed them, fists swinging.

The tail of the leading alien snapped out with a whip crack of sound. By the merest of inches, America ducked and missed it.

So it swung past and collided with Japan. The whole thing took only a second. Maybe less.

Japan's eyes widened, and then turned white and rolled up. Something akin to silver, viscous pus dribbled out of his mouth as he made gagging sounds. And then he fell, spared a hard face-plant by China catching him awkwardly.

"America! You've killed him, aru!" He proceeded to kick the taller nation where the sun don't shine. It looked like a fight was about to break out.

The alien's recaptured their attention by speaking. Their language was a complex mish-mash of clicks and cracking sounds, as well as a few pops and snaps.

They stared at the aliens again. "What did you just say?" asked England cautiously. He knew these creatures were dangerous, and he didn't want to provoke them.

Italy tiptoed over to Japan and poked him in the face. "Japan? Japan, did you _die?_ Japan?" Getting no response, he took out a white flag and started wiping the silver stuff off of Japan's face.

Germany stepped forward and offered a crisp salute. "I represent the country of Germany. What can I do for you?"

Everyone switched from staring at the aliens to staring at Germany.

The aliens conferred amongst themselves with quiet clicks and pops. Eventually, they turned back to face the gathered nations and made sounds that might have been approval.

_Of course, they also might have been of laughter, _thought England pessimistically.

The tallest alien stepped forwards and clumsily copied the salute, triple-jointed arms bending awkwardly to meet the forehead above the unnerving eyes. Then it bent its arm again, to a different position, sheathing one claw and meeting the inner second elbow in a spiral. After a second, it returned to its original position, face unreadable.

"Well," said Germany, "I think we've made some headway."

A meeting was convened on the ship, but this time, it was deadly serious.

"Now what do we do?" asked France, who'd somehow gotten his hair back to normal, though the rest of him was still sopping wet.

"Try to communicate?" asked China.

"We should kill them!" stated America. "You saw what they did to Japan!"

"And whose fault was that?" shot back China.

"Da, we should," smiled Russia, completely ignoring china. He brandished his pipe.

"And if we fail?" asked Germany severely. "We'll have made them our enemies, dummkopf. We'll all be tortured or something equally terrible."

"I can stand anything they can dish out!" declared America. "Because I'm the hero!"

China smacked himself in the head with the torn strap of his bag.

"What about you, England?" asked Germany, turning to face him. "What do you have to s-"

England was smiling and patting the air around waist level. As they watched he turned his focus to a patch of air circling his head.

America flushed. "England, how about _not_ embarrassing the crap out of me for being raised by you? Stay in the world of the living, here. Not all of us can see your hallucinations."

No response.

"England!" America threw half a hamburger at him, shoving the other half in his mouth. Through the chewed up food, he said, "You'd better have something to say worth my last hamburger."

England glared at him. "What? Why the bloody hell is everyone staring at me?"

"You were, ah-" began Germany, but he was cut off by a stinger to the temple. He fell, streams of silver dripping out the sides of his mouth.

It took them a moment to realize what had happened, and then Italy, running to Germany's side, got struck down as well.

Then the nations that were left were scrambling wildly around the circular room, avoiding the aliens and the bodies of the fallen.

China tripped over Japan's foot and knocked over France. Both were stung and began convulsing.

Russia was beating the fourth alien- the one that wasn't the leader or the guards- with his pipe till the skull dented and burst and black blood like rivers flowed art.

"They can be killed~!" he called, swinging at the next one, one of the burly aliens. The pipe was no match for this one, the largest, who appeared to be in a rage at the death of the other alien.

Inside, Russia was afraid. Fear wasn't an emotion he was used it. It rekindled older memories, of when he was child and being chased by the other nations. But now he was grown up. He shouldn't be afraid. Nobody would believe him if he said he was afraid. So he wasn't. Or that's what he told himself.

The alien flung the pipe across the room, and Russia fell, the force of the sting tearing a hole in his jacket.

England slid in a slick of the black blood and did a painful split, giving the leader alien enough time to sting him.

"England!" shouted America, angrier now. He lunged for the alien, tackling it backwards and dealing two solid blows before the tail snaked out and stung him.

Right as he blacked out, he thought he heard the alien speak, mangling the words badly, but getting them out;

_ "You will never be the hero."_

And then, again, everything was dark.

* * *

**A/N: I shall attempt to update once a week, but I will fail miserably. Just watch me ;)**


	4. Remote Control Cell

Japan hurt. All over, and he felt like his head was stuffed full of cotton. There was a sticky trickle of something dripping off the corner of his mouth, and a white flag was stuck to it.

He slowly brought up a slightly shaking hand and peeled the flag off his face, mopping the liquid off before looking at it. _Blood? _he thought fearfully, but his fears were unfounded, for the liquid was an unfamiliar milky silver color.

Relieved, he forced his rubbery muscles up and looked around.

He was in a smallish cell, about 8x8 feet. Three of the four walls were something metallic and heavy, a shifting gray that hurt his eyes if he looked for too long. The last wall had bars on it, about three or four inches apart, like a jail cell.

Which, Japan realized, it was. There was a solidly made bench in the corner. He considered throwing it against the bars, but it looked so heavy he doubted even Germany or America could pick it up. He dragged himself to it and slumped down.

_What, exactly, had happened? _Forcing the foggy feeling out of his head, he tried to recollect his memories.

_ The kidnapping. _He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that. _Then there was the room with the ice water, and the hole in the ground, and then_ –he shuddered- _the aliens…_ Then the blinding pain that spread up his arm to his heart and his head and turned off his brain for…how long? An hour? Two?

He shook it out of his head. Best not to dwell on it. Feeling a bit better, aside from a red blister of pain on his arm, he padded towards the bars, intending to push his face against it to try and see what was out there. The bars shimmered a strange dark magenta color, and fingers of electricity danced towards him. He jerked back.

A black-garbed alien came down the hall, clawed feet clicking against the metal floor. Japan sprang backwards, hurling himself towards the far wall. He could feel the current pain of this sting, and the mushy taste of the liquid still filled his mouth. He didn't want another.

He heard the feet stop a little way down the hall. There was a nearly inaudible whoosh, and then a clink and a clatter. Then more rhythmic footsteps, and another pattern of sounds. As Japan began to let his breath out, the alien appeared, silhouetted in the light from the hall. It walked through the bars like they weren't there and began depositing a tray on the ground.

It cocked its head, and all six eyes swiveled towards Japan, who froze, his heart hammering in his chest. It watched Japan watching it, and after a moment, lifted its tail as if to sting him. A moment later, the alien made a gesture like a shrug and dropped the tray, gliding back through the bars and going back down the hall.

The rest of his breath spilled out as he stared, first at the hallway to make sure it wasn't coming back, and then at the tray it had placed on the ground. There was a green-brown cube on it that looked like something you'd find in a swamp. Vaguely disgusted, he pulled the tray closer, trying to discern the purpose of it. The tray itself was light and insubstantial, and it looked like it was made of smoke and could come apart at any second.

The liquid provided with it wasn't much better. It was nearly transparent, but it had a musty scent and there were dark specks floating in it. But since his throat was as dry as the Tottori Sand Dune, he wrinkled up his face and swallowed it. Once it was empty, the container it was in drifted apart, exactly like smoke. Japan was too busy gagging to care, though.

Finally, once he was sure the taste was gone from his mouth, did he review the past minute. _The alien had stopped five times after me, and twice before me…so we're all in this hallway, and they wouldn't bother to feed them if they were dead…right?_

At that moment, he heard a familiar voice muttering to itself. He crawled to the bars hopefully.

"Germany?"

A groan answered him, as well as a few German curses. Then, finally, a reply.

"Japan? Is that you?"

Japan felt relief fizzing in his veins. They weren't dead after all. "It is me."

An incredibly loud scream burst their eardrums. "Germanyyyy!~ My hand hurts!"

"Italy!" The other two nations exclaimed in surprise. "You're here too!" Japan heard shuffling sounds, and then Germany muttering, "Oh, mein kopf." _Oh, my head._

"Yeah, you got stung there," said Italy cheerfully. Japan was a bit surprised that Italy was taking this all in stride, but didn't question it. Better a happy Italy than one who was loud and sad.

"Italy," said Germany in a voice of great weariness, "I'm trapped in a cage as well."

"Oh," said Italy, momentarily put out. Then he brightened again. "Hey! Look! Food!"

A second later, Italy was miserable again. "THIS FOOD TASTES AWFUL! UWAHHHH~!"

"Aiyaa," came a voice from down the hall. "What is all this noise?"

"China?" asked Japan, choosing to ignore Germany's futile attempts to calm Italy down. "You are here as well?"

"Apparently, aru. What happened?"

"I do not know. I was stung before you were. Do you want to know something interesting about these bars?"

"What, aru?"

"I was awake first, I believe, and I saw the aliens step through the bars like they weren't there. They were delivering food."

"Food? Ah, that crap looks disgusting, aru."

There was a pause. "Maybe the bars are fake, aru!" China said, overly hopeful.

"If you go too close to them, purplish electricity comes out of the bars," said Japan gloomily. There was silence, broken by Germany yelling at Italy to be quiet. It seemed the blond nation was at the end of his patience.

"How can you stand them, aru?" said China at length. "They would've driven me crazy by now."

As if on cue, America shouted, "Right, England?" His voice was incredibly loud.

China gave a small laugh. "I'm one to talk. America's almost more annoying-" He caught himself before he insulted Italy's behavior.

"They're my friends," said Japan tightly, but after a moment he relented. "I…I really don't know. It's just…they've been my friends forever."

"You know, there's always room for one more on the Allies, aru."

Japan could picture China trying to smile, his golden eyes hopeful. For some reason it brought a lump to his throat. _We were friends, until I attacked him. _

_It's not your fault,_ he thought harshly. _You _had _to expand. Otherwise your people would've run out of resources and who knows what would've happened._ But he still felt guilty anyway.

"I…can't." He replied finally, looking down. "They will probably tear eachother apart without me there, you know," he said, trying to for humor.

China sighed. "I'd guessed you'd say that, aru. And you're probably right."

There was another silence.

"Anyway, the bars. Maybe they can shut off our senses or something."

"Where did you get that idea, aru? It sounds rather crazy." The disbelief was well hidden, but Japan picked it up anyway.

A little stung, Japan said, "I read it in a book. It was fiction, admittedly, but it gave me something to think on."

"Oh, I see what you're getting at, aru." said China. "It could cut off light from the hallway, or the sounds of our voices, or-"

He stopped suddenly. Japan waited to continue, but after ten seconds, there was still no response. At the same time, he realized Italy had stopped panicking.

"You were right, China," said Japan quietly. "No more sound."

A memory floated up, faded with age.

_They were in part of China's house, where Japan had grown up when he was little. China had given the young nation some samples of writing, but Japan made up his own to work with. Later, Japan was wandering around when he stumbled on China talking to one of his panda._

_"…I'm trying to be a good older brother, but I don't know how, and I don't think he gets it, aru. It hurts me feelings and makes me sad, and he invents his own words and language and culture and everything and ignoring me completely." China hgged his panda and sighed._

_Little Japan was hiding in the shadows, feeling ashamed. He didn't _mean_ to make older brother fell so bad. _

_He ran out of the shadows before his mind caught up with his feet and gave China a tackle hug, making the other jump._

_"Oh, it's only you, aru." said China with some surprise. _

_"I'm sorry, China. I didn't mean to make you sad, I just wanted to be unique."_

_China returned the hug. "That's okay, didi." Little brother. "I understand. All of us want to be different, aru." _

_Little Japan gave a rare smile. "You will always be my ge ge." The Chinese word for older brother that he'd never used._

_Smiling widely, China turned his face to the moon. "Riben [Japan], have I ever told you the story of the rabbit who lives in the moon?"_

The memory left as quickly as it came. Japan remembered the good times with his older brother. Most people thought of England raising America when they thought of cute childhoods, but nobody knew much about China raising Japan.

They had become significantly less close when Japan _had_ to invade China for resources. Being on a series of volcanic islands, there wasn't much oil, and oil was a commodity desperately needed at the time. Japan did not tell his people to kill and pillage and rape like Vikings, but that had ended up happening after a while of holding power.

Their closeness had been shattered, a cool friction between them. But here, on the ship, with uncertainty everywhere, maybe the walls would start to come down.

Japan went to the back of his cell, saying so quietly no one in the cell with him wouldn't have heard him; "I miss you, ge ge."


	5. Tasting Fire

It was like rising out of a foggy dream._ First the darkness of what you've forgotten, and then gray light, and then awakening_, thought Russia. _Oh, and also the pain._

And there_ was_ pain, a great big burst of it radiating outwards from his back. _The alien had stung him there, _he remembered. Gingerly, he reached a hand to the crooked tear in his coat and the painful welt on his back, still tacky with half-dried blood. His fingers came back smeared pinkish.

Russia rolled from lying sideways to his stomach to take weight off the sting. He was sure the alien had hit him the hardest, because the other alien, the one he'd killed, was…what? Its mate?

At that point he noticed there was a bench in the corner. Backhanding silver liquid from his mouth, he pushed to his feet and crossed the small room in three giant steps. His jacket felt lighter, a bit different than what he was used to.

_Oh, yes, my pipe. _His pickaxe was also missing.

"Well," he said aloud, "at least I still have my vodka." He pulled out the bottle and stuck a finger through the neck, wetting his finger in the clear liquid. _Alcohol disinfects, right?_ Russia dabbed his finger on the sting, gritting his teeth at the resulting sparks of pain. _Da, it disinfects._ At least that was the theory.

His back now complaining more than ever, he downed the last of the liquid, swishing it through his teeth to rid his mouth of the moldy taste of the silver stuff. Then he stashed the bottle back in his jacket. He could smash it against an alien forehead, if he needed to.

Russia imagined the whistle of air over the mouth of the bottle as he swung it, followed by a jarring impact as the glass splintered in every direction, impaling some of the alien's eyes with a squish. The alien would scream, black blood dripping from its face, and swipe with a claw, but Russia would dodge it and slam the remaining fragments of glass into its nose before wringing its useless neck. Yes, he could see it clearly.

He allowed himself a small smile and stretched, disregarding the accompanying flare from his back. His foot nudged a light-weight tray, and Russia looked down at it. There was a glass and a puddle of greenish slime. He brought it to his face and smelled it curiously before scrunching up his nose and saying, "Smells like your cooking, England." He hurled the tray against the bars, where it burst into pieces that melted like smoke.

Russia cocked his head to one side. _Strange… _

Then a familiar, annoying voice assailed his ears. "Oh, good, Russia, you're awake. We were starting to wonder if you were dead."

Russia sighed. No putting it off; he had to talk to him or else America would never shut up. "How long-?" he began, but America cut him off.

"A good half hour after the heroic me woke up, and the aliens managed to defeat me last. They must've hated you."

"Must have," echoed Russia, wishing America would just shut up and leave him to his daydreams of smashing aliens. It was harder to be afraid of them when they were nowhere near.

"This food tastes awful, by the way," continued America. "What you said about England's cooking fits perfectly. Man, I wish I had a hamburger right now."

"I BLOODY HEARD THAT!" came an angry roar from down the hall. "JUST BECAUSE I'M IN THIS CELL DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN JUST-"

"How many of us are there?" asked Russia, wincing as the pain suddenly intensified. He'd have to open his other bottle of vodka if it _was_ infected after all, and then it wouldn't taste as good if he had alien blood on his fingers when he dipped for more. Maybe he should just pour the vodka on his head-

"All of us seem to be here," said America, obliviously intruding upon his ruminations. "You're at the end of the hall. Then there's me, and then good ol' England, and as far as I can tell, France. Right, England?" He hollered the last two words, aiming his voice down the hall. He could hear China and Japan resume talking after the brief blast of sound.

"You don't have to be so bloody _loud_," said England. "And yes, France is here. I outwitted him verbally." There was a trace of smugness in his voice.

"You did not!" came the angry reply. "I won, fair and square. You're just too thick to admit it."

Then the two of them were yelling and trading insults. Russia smiled at their antics. If only he could watch, and provide tactics that would get them both eliminated. Then he'd slowly take over the rest of the world, and everyone would become one with him… His wound throbbed, shaking him out of the dream. He wished he had something to hold onto. Holding onto cylindrical weapons always made him feel better.

"After that," America went on, "We don't know. I think it goes China, Japan, then Germany and Italy. Yeah, that sounds right." England and France were still yelling.

"Is it right," said Russia slowly, "to admit that I'm a little worried? I mean, what's happening on Earth? And how are we going to get out of here?"

"Oh, that's no problem!" blustered America. "I'll just pull these bars apart, and-"

There was a loud _zap. _

"What happened?" asked Russia, amused. "Did you succeed?" He wanted to get out and smash a few skulls, or at least get his pipe back. _Preferably without running into the aliens,_ said a small voice inside. _They're stronger than you, and you know it._

"заткнись," he said out loud. _Shut up. I can handle myself._

"What was that? I don't speak Russian," America said, sounding winded. "The bars flipping electrocuted me. I grabbed them and they burnt my hands. And I couldn't even begin to bend them. Of course, by then, the electricity threw me off."

There was a hissing noise. Russia looked down.

"America, you have ideas, yes? You're going to be the hero, da?" His voice was a bit strained, and the fear from his inner voice was leaking a bit.

America's voice was a little off when he responded, "Yeah, I hope. Why?"

"There's a gas coming into my cell, and I'm not sure what it's going to do."

"Try and fan it towards the bars!" suggested America.

"Tried that," said Russia, who was standing on the bench to keep the gas from touching his feet. "It's not going through. The bars are a wall."

England and France had finally stopped arguing, and England said, "There's a gas in my cell. Anyone else?"

Russia groaned. "Were you not just listening to anything we said?" _Idiot,_ he added mentally.

"Me too!" France chimed. "America, if you have any ideas, use them now."

"Besides ramming the bars and burning myself again?" America snapped.

"Can't you all stop fighting for a minute?" Russia's voice was muffled through his scarf, which was wrapped around his face. "I could be dying, here." He was afraid after all, and he cursed himself for it. He'd thought he'd killed fear a while ago.

"There's no gas in here, so I can't help you," said America in an attempt at nonchalance. Everyone could hear that he was worried anyway. "And I have no ideas. I don't know."

"Invent one!" shouted Russia, spitting out scarf fibers and the smoky taste of the gas. "The room is full of it! I can't even s-" he started coughing violently, his words lost.

"England? France? What about you?"

"Well, I've got my jacket around my head, but I can still taste this nasty stuff. Do something bloody quickly, before who knows what'll happen here. I don't-" England started coughing as well.

"Ha, I'm fine," said France. "This gas seems to have no effect on me. Perhaps I'm too gorgeo-" and then the coughing spread to him as well.

"Guys?" said America nervously.

Russia was in no shape to respond. His lungs felt like they were burning, and the more he coughed, the more air he sucked in, and more burning. Not to mention the blister on his back was reacting to the gas and all the coughing he was doing, and it felt like it was eating a hole through his ribcage. His eyes darted around, trying to make the mustard colored fog reveal its purpose to him. It seemed as if dancing forms took shape around him.

The fog irritated his eyes, and he closed them briefly.

There was a crackling sound, and sudden, intense heat.

His eyes shot open.

Russia was in a field of fire, with a bare circle around him. He'd always hated fire. It melted the perfect beauty of snow, drove away General Winter, chased off the cold that he loved, consumed everything in its path.

As he saw the skyline of Moscow burning.

As all around him, sunflowers withered and died.

As his clothes flickered with sparks.

As his sisters came staggering out of the flowers, fire blazing in the hair, their skin, their clothes…Ukraine screamed and threw her hands up, and Belarus, in a rare display of compassion, sprinted to her sister. Both of them burned, and their voices pleaded with him.

He ran to them, but was stopped by a wall. Hard, invisible. He beat on it with his fists, attempting to call out, but the smoke was thick in his throat, and he coughed even more, spittle mixing with the sweat and bewildered tears.

_How….my worst nightmares, my family, my sisters, my life…all gone, because of this hellfire…_

Even General Winter burned, though indiscreetly, a smudge of glowing embers on the horizon, limning the sky with a dull red glow.

Ukraine surged forwards, and then with a final shriek, fell, rolling just to the edge of the bare circle. Belarus followed suit, one hand extended in supplication. Russia jumped forwards, extending his fingers, which just brushed hers. He rammed his fists against the invisible corner, until they splattered blood onto the invisible walls, defining them more.

And then both his sisters were charred down to bones and teeth and ashes.

With a sob, Russia looked down at himself, at the glowing sparks he could feel nestled in his hair, his clothes, the heat searing his skin. As he watched, the ends of his scarf burst into flame.

That spurred him to action. He tore it off his neck and stomped on it, attempting to put it out. It just blazed brighter, until his coat trailed fire as well. He dropped to the ground, rolled around frantically, but the fire still spread until it seemed that all he breathed was fire, that it raced inside his veins like poison, glowing under his skin, which erupted into flames as well.

It was unbearable, and all too much at once. _Everything…_

Russia knelt in the earth, ignoring the ropes of fire lashing his clothes, melting his scarf to his skin. He just screamed, until the fire consumed him.

* * *

America was afraid. He wouldn't admit it, but he was. Russia and England were no longer coughing, and France was, only weakly. _Were they dead_? He panicked, before chewing the inside of his cheek to calm himself.

France ceased. Now there was only coughing from down the hall. There were a few sounds coming from Russia's cell and England's cell, but they were nearly inaudible. He suspected the bars were altering the sound for that.

There was a hissing noise, and he looked down dispassionately to see a slow, steady trickle of gas. Then, his attention was caught by a portion of the wall lighting up. A black screen, out of his reach, with the wavering white words, "You will never be the hero."

America blanched, then put on a brave front. "Aww, you guys really hurt me, right here." He thumped his chest with one hand. "That just cuts me to the bone, man."

It was uncanny how well they knew him, just what barbs would begin to make him feel uneasy and unnecessary. _Of course I'm the hero,_ he protested. _Who _else_ could even try?_

Of course, his newly-regained confidence was shattered by a tortured animal scream, containing all the sorrow in the world. And it came from Russia's cell. Russia. Screaming, like _that_…

The sound sent shivers up his spine. Russia was never afraid, never injured. For him to even admit he was worried earlier was deliberately out of character. Russia never showed anything besides intermediate cheerfulness, and America grudgingly respected that. But now, it was like his spirit had been broken.

The sound went on and on, and then when it was falling slightly, England joined in, shouting fearfully, "No! Stop, dammit!" And then the pain-filled voice, adding to the scream. France began cursing an instant later, a string of words to fast to pronounce flying out of him, and then, as well, pleading, and fear making his voice crack.

And it was as if the other four began at once. A chorus, a cacophony of the inner demons of the seven other nations he's thought he'd known back to front. There was sobbing, as if the owner of the voice's world had ended, and then a high shriek from Italy; "ROMANOO!~ GERMANYYY!~"

For a moment China's voice topped the verbal pile. "Bu yao sha le wo de jia ren, hai shi wo!" On an instinctive level, he understood. _Don't kill my family, or me._

And just when he thought he'd go insane from the sound, the gas finally filled the room.

_What is it?_ Thought America wildly. _What could make them scream like that?_

And then, as he breathed in the fog, he thought, _I'll find out._

The smoke coalesced around him, and in seconds he saw why. And he too screamed.

* * *

**A/N: By putting the note down here, you shall be more motivated to review! I hope.**


	6. Back on Earth

**A/N: I got a review! One whole review! :D Now, more would be appreciated, though. ;)**

* * *

"Where's Russia?" Lithuania shook Estonia and Latvia awake. "He left for that meeting thing a day ago. Shouldn't he be back by now?"

Estonia yawned and peered up at him. "Why did you wake us up in the middle of the night just to ask that? And why should we care? As long as he isn't here, we're free to go."

Lithuania hung his head. "Well, you know me, I worry a lot. Even though I don't really like him either."

Latvia, looking like a baby bird swaddled in blankets, said nervously "There was that big explosion that really hurt yesterday. It went on the news too, remember?"

Lithuania nodded. "I remember. It hurt."

Estonia said, "Can I go back to sleep?" Without waiting for an answer, he flopped back onto the pillows.

"I….I guess we could look around or something in the morning," offered Latvia timidly.

"You could ask General Winter," said Estonia into the pillows.

"It's summer," pointed out Lithuania.

"Mmf. Yeah." said Estonia, sounding asleep already.

Latvia lay back down. "We'll look for him in the morning, Lithuania. You worry too much." His voice was muffled as he snuggled down into the blankets.

Lithuania stood there a moment longer, then turned away and said, "Yeah, I do."

* * *

In the morning, Lithuania's wake-up call was literally a call, from Austria. As soon as he picked up the phone, he heard the other nation's harried voice. "Do you know where Germany is, Russia? I think you saw him last."

"I'm not Russia," said Lithuania, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Then who are you?" The other nation could hear the frown through the phone.

"Lithuania."

"Ah. Okay. Do you know where Germany is?"

"No, I haven't heard from him since the meeting. Why?"

"Without Germany, who'll keep this idiot in line?" Lithuania could hear Prussia shouting in the background, and Austria sighed. "I swear Hungary's about to-"

There was a clang and a clatter, and Prussia shouted out in apparent pain. "-give Prussia a concussion," finished Austria.

"Germany could be with Italy," said Lithuania.

"No, I called Romano too. I believe his exact words were, "How would I know where my little brother is? Last I saw he was off to the meeting about the aliens with the potato bastard! Stupid question. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

Lithuania swallowed a snicker. "Typical Romano."

In the background there was another clang, and then Prussia's voice was silent. "I have to go," said Austria. "I think Hungary just sent Prussia to the hospital."

Click.

Lithuania stood blinking at the window for a moment before going to wake the others and change out of his pajamas.

* * *

"…so Italy and Germany must also be missing." explained Lithuania as they hurried down the streets, under the sky still covered in spaceships.

"But why are we headed to Asia then?" asked Estonia.  
"To ask one of the others if they'd seen China or Japan since they'd gone to the meeting." repeated Lithuania.

"Isn't that Hong Kong?" asked Latvia, gesturing at a person walking quickly down the other side of the road.

"I think so," said Estonia, and walked over to him. The other two followed. If this wasn't Hong Kong, they'd have to explain themselves, and that never ended well. Especially that one time with the fans… They'd literally had to flee from people who loved them.

The person turned his head as he sensed the others approach, and Lithuania let out a quiet breath of relief. It was Hong Kong after all.

"You're Estonia, right?"

"Yeah." The bespectacled nation nodded. "Oh, by the way-"

"Have you seen China?" interrupted Hong Kong. "He owes me money."

"I-I was about to ask you that." stammered Estonia in surprise.

Hong Kong put his head to one side. "Why?"

"Because Germany, Italy, and Russia are missing, and we're wondering if the aliens have anything to do with it." said Lithuania.

"Why should you care? Doesn't he treat you awful anyway?"

Lithuania sighed. "Why does everyone ask me that?" _But it was true_, he remembered. He was always treated the worst. So far he'd been able to keep the scars a secret, from all of them.

"Well, I guess you should add China to the missing list, then." Hong Kong's voice was neutral, but his eyes told a different story. "I guess I'll help you look, too."

"Thanks," said Lithuania gratefully. "We'll the extra eyes, I guess."

His phone rang suddenly. He pulled it out. "Who is it?"

"Hi, Liet!"

"Oh, hi, Poland!"

"Didja hear about the aliens?"

"Of course!" said Lithuania, glancing at the darkened sky. "They've only been here for two days."

"Aww." Poland sounded put out.

Lithuania realized he could ask Poland if he'd seen someone, and he began, "Poland-"

"Sorry, Liety, I'd promised pony I'd go, like, ride him today!" And Poland hung up.

Lithuania stared at the phone. The rest stared at Lithuania. "Well, we could call, ah, what's-his-face, Canada, to see if he's seen America or France." said Hong Kong.

Lithuania agreed that that was a good idea and, after a few seconds of remembering, dialed. A minute or so later, he hung up grimly. "Canada hasn't seen them either."

"You know what would make this faster?" remarked Estonia.

"What?"

"If we all called someone to ask about this."

"I'll call Belarus," said Lithuania immediately.

"We can go in here and make a plan or a list or something." Estonia pulled open the door to a café and they walked inside, picking a table near the window.

"So we've called…Austria, and he didn't know where Italy and Germany were." said Hong Kong. Latvia pulled out a piece of paper and jotted that down, as well as 'HK-China; Canada- France, America.'

"Who else could we call?" Estonia tapped a pencil against his lip.

"Everyone?" suggested Lithuania.

"Just about." Estonia reached out to take the paper from Latvia and write down their four names. "Okay, so Lithuania, you wanted to call Belarus?" The nation nodded, and Estonia wrote Belarus under Lithuania's name.

And so on.

An hour of calls later, they'd learned a little more news. No, Belarus didn't know where anyone was. She told Lithuania to 'shut up or she would maim him.' Lithuania didn't seem to care.

No, Taiwan hadn't seen anyone recently. Finland hadn't seen a few since the Christmas party last year.

Turkey didn't know. Denmark said he thought Norway had seen England at magic convention, and a quick follow-up call confirmed that. Sealand had seen 'jerkland' more recently, right outside the building until England had told him to go away.

Greece's response to the call was interspersed with meows, but Hong Kong thought he'd said he'd seen Japan right before Japan left for the meeting. Spain might've seen Germany recently, but he 'thought it was a dream, because he was trying to eat my feet while juggling tomatoes.'

Estonia mentioned France to Ukraine and she yelled a string of words so foul he flinched. At the end of her tirade, she said no to seeing anyone but Russia before the meeting.

At the end, having called everyone they could think of, they were disappointed and worried. Estonia put his head in his hands, pushing aside the dregs of a coffee.

"We're doomed."

Latvia looked at the bellies of the alien ships outside the window, while the others exchanged a glance.

"This is serious."


	7. Awakening

**A/N: I'm still grounded, but I'll just make it up as I go along, and hopefully it won't deviate too much from what I'd originally planned. Oh, and, by the way, I'm not shipping anyone in this. You can, but I'm not. ;) ****If I get any of the characters all weird, feel free to let me know. Apologies for the short chapter~**

* * *

His throat hurt from screaming. The visions of the carnage he'd seen danced before his eyes.

England groaned, even that small sound hurting his throat, and put his head in his hands, beating it against his palms, trying to wipe out the horror, the hell.

It didn't work. Of course not.

Involuntarily, he glanced at his wrists, reassuring himself that there were no chafe marks on them from the chains that had speckled with blood as he'd pulled harder against them, trying to escape. But it's hard to escape hell when you can't even close your eyes to hide, no secrets under his eyelids after they'd been ripped out-

He whimpered, a vulnerable sound, and curled into a ball under the bench. There was barely enough room for him. _Don't remember that, England. You don't bloody want to remember._

He opened his eyes, desperate to focus on something, anything other than the silence of his thoughts. There was a tray- lightweight, partially translucent- on the ground by the bars, and it held some sort of mushy brown-green glop and a cup of discolored liquid. He couldn't really think of it as water. Disgust warred with thirst and thirst won. He gulped the liquid down, feeling the particles in it against his tongue. Immediately after, he made a face, but it soothed his throat.

Then, England sampled the food. Even if it _did _resemble his cooking sometimes, the taste was completely different._ Truly a disgusting meal, _he thought, grimly attacking the contents of the tray. When he was done, he hurled it against the bars, feeling a bit better. It clanged to the ground and faded away like smoke.

"Who's there?" A thin voice reached England's ears. He recognized it instantly.

England tried to make a sound, but his raw throat threatened to bleed. Screaming without end was no good for it. Finally, he managed to whisper, "It's me, you bloody frog."

"England? What'd you do to your voice, _mon ami_?"

"Wore it out." whispered England shortly. "You know."

"Yes. I do." France's voice was weary, and the strangely eyebrowed nation heard the strain in it. "I wonder why all the bad things happen to the gorgeous people." France went on.

England attempted to smile. That was more like the France he knew.

"I mean seriously, all you ugly people are fair game, but shouldn't I be granted an exception?"

England's smile faded. "France," he whispered as menacingly as he could, "stop using the fact that I am trapped in this cell and cannot give you the beating you deserve to your advantage."

France laughed delightedly. "Oh, _oui_, I'll be quiet, but first you have to say you missed the melodious sound of my voice."

A vein bulged in England's forehead. "What?" he roared, with no regard for his throat. "YOU BLOODY WANKER!"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" France purred. "Were you saying you missed the melodious sound of my voice?"

"I will bloody kill you, you arsehole!" England seethed.

France merely laughed agian. "You missed the melodious sound of my voice, didn't you? Go on! Say it! I know you did!"

"You...you..." sputtered England. Suddenly he coughed violently, barely having enough time to suck in air to cough with. _Ah, __hell_.

France was not fazed. "I assume you're coughing to disguise the fact you missed the melodious sound of my voice?"

The coughing increased in volume and then cut off.

"I'm coughing up _blood_, you ass-hat!" England whispered as loudly as he dared.

France was alarmed. "What? Blood? Really?" He took a few steps towards the bars.

The coughing stopped again, and a few rattling gasps could be heard. "I missed the melodious sound of your voice," whispered England, sounding defeated. "Now shut the hell up, and leave me alone."

For once France did as England told him to.


	8. Abuse

**A/N: I apologize so much for this chapter's lateness; as the end of the school year nears, those teachers pile on more work, filling my time. :P I did get my computer back, and now I owe you three chapters at once! Which I will get you all!...eventually.**  
**Keep reviewing, it makes my day when I get them :D Now on with the story!**

* * *

About five minutes later America awoke and started complaining, and giving all the nations a verbal list of his injuries, and a thorough lecture about how "the sidekicks were supposed to take one for the hero!" He filled the hall with mindless chatter.

The nations were annoyed in about three seconds flat.

"Shut up already!" mouthed England, though his voice refused to emerge. His cry was picked up by Germany. "My head hurts, America, so please be quiet."

"Never!" crowed America, having successfully evoked a response from one of the oddly silent nations. He rambled on, trying to entice someone into a conversation.

Finally, China spoke. "I may as well talk, aru, because it's better than relieving what happened over and over again." Just along the back of his eyes was a yellow-skied wasteland.

Then the hall was filled with too many overly bright voices, each trying to forget the horrible things they'd seen.

America tried to talk to Russia, but Russia was quiet and taciturn, giving one-word replies.

"You will leave me alone, da?" The tall nation asked bitterly, after a time. "Make up another delusion in which you are the hero."

America fell silent, just in time to hear Russia murmur "…so I can save them from the fire." Unsettled but trying not to show it, the heroic nation turned to England, who immediately responded, "Sorry, but I can't talk, my throat's burnt out, thanks to that bloody frog."

The frog in question was caught in an argument with China about who's food was better. Japan occasionally interjected a comment, and Germany was going on about how the finest German beer was twice as good of either of the foods tasted. Italy was listing several types of pasta and that sausages taste terrible.

America found an opening and shouted about hamburgers, and even Russia got out of his slump and praised vodka. England even managed to make himself heard and shoot off a few insults at the people who didn't like his scones. They were almost feeling better-had almost forgotten what they'd seen- when a thick and heavy silence ate their words, cutting off France in the middle of insisting that French wine was better than beer or vodka.

It took him half a minute to realize that the bars had blocked out sound, and he sighed and sank down against the wall. In his mind's eye, an elegant bottle full of sparkling red wine faded back into drowning in a slick, meaty substance, sliding around him, up his nose, he couldn't breathe-

_ Non._ Anything else. He refocused back on food. His stomach rumbled, and he glared at the tray shoved under the bench. "That slop is an insult to French food. Bring me something better!" he shouted, startling himself into laughter.

After what could've been an hour, though, the square was starting to look downright edible. France pinched it between thumb and finger and dangled it warily in front of his nose. "Smells like the back of England's refrigerator."

He ripped off a corner and sampled it warily. Mm. Cardboard.

Sometime after the horrible experience of ingesting the square, he lay on the bench to try and go to sleep. The bench was cold, and the metal dug into his shoulder blades. France groaned and re-arranged his arms under his head, rolling over for the umpteenth time.

There was an alien standing in the cell. Tall, like they all were, with an expressionless face and the long scorpion tail curled over its feet. The pale milky skin of this alien was crisscrossed with dark gray lines, and its bones pulsed as it breathed. The rest of the alien did not move.

France sat and stared for all of ten seconds, unable to comprehend. And then his brain kick-started and he sprang up, anger fizzing in his veins. "Why did you do this to us? What have we done to you?" Full of rage, he charged the alien, and smashed into a wall.

A bit dazed, he nursed his bruised knuckles and looked at the place where the alien had grabbed him and swung him into the wall. It was red, and his skin hurt. He swung at the alien, putting all his rage into it, and it moved nearly faster than he could see.

Boom, fist to the jaw. Alien crumples like paper. France saves the day. That was what he imagined, anyway.

His back hit the floor hard, and the impact rang all the way up to his skull. He hadn't seen the alien move, but another red mark was appearing on his arm. The floor was cold, colder than the bench was, and he sprang up a bit unsteadily. "What do you want from me?"

A stinging pain like a slap sevenfold sliced across his cheek, and in surprise he put his fingers to it and they came away red.

There was blood on the alien's claw, and he stared at it. It'd been an age since anything not a nation had harmed him. To his disgust, the alien brought the claw to its mouth and tasted it, serpent-like black tongue flicking out and back in. Claws _shinked_ back into the alien's palms.

The pale-skinned creature seemed to glide towards him; he kicked at it, and the claws flashed out of their sheaths and sliced lightly across his ribcage. In the time it took for him to flinch, it moved into his face.

France tried punching at it, maybe knock the wind out of it and crack the tray across its skull-

He glanced around. The tray was gone. _Figures. Just when I actually need it._

The tail wound around him, squeezing him so tight he thought his bones would crack, and he pried inefficiently at the coils. Eventually, he struggled for breath and hoped his bones wouldn't crack. Just as black spots began eating his vision, it released him. He slid gracelessly to the ground and landed in a pile of limbs, his ribs shrieking.

The alien turned to leave, and France propped himself up to see it. Angry again, rage in his blood and bubbling round his head, he spat, "Can't even kill me properly, eh?" though his common sense was telling him it was a terrible idea.

It _was_ a terrible idea. The alien whirled, tail flying, and before he knew it he'd been stung. It burned hot, hotter than fire, than the rage of moments ago, and it was never-ending and everlasting.

France felt the silver liquid fill his mouth, dribbling out the corners to form a puddle on the ground.

He heard the click of claws as the alien walked through the bars.

He heard his breaths, rattling as they forced their way through his lips.

He heard silence.


	9. Thinking

**A/N: Guess what? I got myself grounded again, so this means slower updates. Not that the updates were particularly fast, anyway...****Sorry again for the short chapter. Review it! :D**

* * *

Germany was lying in a puddle of silver. It was stained all up his uniform, and his mouth tasted of must and mold.

He sat up and groaned, his vision blurring. He hadn't felt this bad since WWII. His entire body hurt, but he only felt the shapes of two stings on his back. _Just two? _There was also the older one on his temple that still throbbed. He glanced at his uniform. Ruined. _And I just washed and pressed this thing, too. Figures._

He was fighting the poison, and they stung him again to finish him off. It was taking too long. That's what they seemed to be communicating.

Because they'd come in and attacked him, after the silence turned on. He'd waited in confusion for five minutes, long and silent, and then while he was counting the seconds with his eyes shut, alone in his solitude, he'd heard a hiss and a click, and turned around in surprise to see a long thin alien glide through the bars.

That was what happened. His memory had fragmented and was coming back together. Had that happened before? Germany searched his memory for a similar moment, but couldn't remember. Maybe it had happened. He still felt frazzled.

Germany had always been the strong one, stronger than the rest almost. While it was America who could lift a car, Germany would not give in, would not back down.

He would not be overwhelmed.

But then again, he was.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up straight. Breathing in too deeply made him cough -there was still silver mercury in his lungs- and shouted "Blargh!" trying to clear the taste out of his mouth. That done, he mopped at the crescent-shaped stain on his uniform again and sighed. It'd taken ages to iron it out.

His throat felt better, so he breathed in deeply, experimentally. No cough, no creeping, itchy feeling.

Germany's next priorities were his friends and the other nations.

"Japan? Italy?" He didn't really expect a response, what with the bars and the tech, and he was right. He reached to tug at the bars, but the dancing strands of electricity snaking towards him made him withdraw his hand quickly.

"I wish I could see what was going on," he said to no one in particular. As if by magic, part of the wall lit up. He warily stepped closer, expecting a trap.

Instead, it was a flickering image of Italy lying on his back, with the silver streams from his mouth. His eyes were puffy from tears. Germany absently wondered how long he'd been unconscious as he stared at the image, wanting to reach through it and see if the other was all right. Maybe he had some sort of resistance to it. "Italy?" whispered Germany worriedly.

Then it switched. Now Japan was on the screen, curled up on his side like a cat. After giving Germany a good long while to stare at it, it moved on, showing a quick montage of the other nations, pausing on America, who was currently attacking the alien sent in to sting him. His mouth was moving, and there was no sound. Germany guessed he was saying something along the lines of, "I'm the hero! You can't get me!"

_Typical America. _The thought brought a smile to his face. The smile faded, however, as the alien overpowered the other nation. America went down, a look of shock on his face. The silver-milky liquid began its ponderous travel out of the corner of his mouth to the floor. The alien walked away. The screen then flicked to Russia, who was lying on his back quietly as the alien burst in.

Then the alien appeared, and the screen blackened and faded back to normal wall color. Germany sat down slowly, nearly missing the bench. His stings felt like acid, but he ignored them for the time being, feeling disturbed.

_Why_ seemed to be the question. Had they annoyed some intergalactic space patrol? Were they just parasites, or were they like the Pictonians, just needing a new place to stay?

Germany rose and paced around his cell, trying to think of an escape plan, any plan at all really, but each plan ended up drifting apart at the seams.

The cell was eight by seven feet. He counted. _Ein, zwei, drei... _After an interminable time, his legs felt like sacks of cement, and all he had done was established that the cell was eight by seven feet.

Annoyed with himself and his lack of plan-making, and feeling strangely tired, he slumped backwards against the wall and fell asleep.

While his dreams riddled his mind with nightmares.


	10. A Phone Call, Tomatoes, and a Wreckage

**A/N: Since I'm a lazy, I abbreviated Hong Kong to HK. I think I'll keep doing that. Hopefully in here I didn't make Spain too much of a derp~**

**Language Warning: Contains Romano**

**You know you want to review :D**

* * *

Prussia woke up with a pounding headache. _Thanks, Hungary. You and that damn frying pan._

"Probably was jealous of my five meters," he said aloud, and instantly felt better. He pulled out his phone with one hand and dialed. "Hey, West, come bail me out of Austria's house. If I step outside this room, Hungary'll brain me." Then he frowned at it. He'd gotten West's answering machine. That hardly ever happened. He hung up before the message finished and then sighed, walking over the window to gauge the distance to the ground. The darkness made it hard. As he struggled with the sash, his phone rang again.

Ah, it was West, calling to apologize for not picking up. "I'm awesome!" he shouted into it.

"Great," said someone not West dryly. Who was this? Prussia checked the caller-ID. Ah. Estonia. "Have you seen any of the G8 since those explosions?" the un-awesome nation went on.

"What, you mean the G8? Nah."

"They're missing."

"Missing?" exclaimed Prussia. "Now I've got nobody to spring me from room-arrest!"

"This is important," said Estonia fiercely.

"So is getting my awesomely sexy body out of this room! Someone as awesome as me can't be hidden from the general public!"

Estonia sighed. "And what are you going to do about the aliens, then? Kill them with your awesome?"

Prussia was silent, indicating that Estonia had stolen his words.

"We're having a meeting." The blond nation sounded exhasperated.

"Where?"

"The old building."

"Kay! Seeya there!" Prussia jabbed the hang-up icon, wondering why he'd agreed.

* * *

"So, should we set up the building?" asked HK as the four of them walked over.

"Set up how?" inquired Estonia. "I just remember that it had the table and then all the lights on."

And once there was food!" said Latvia brightly. "I remember once there was a buffet, with food from all over the world."

"Poland had brought those chocolate-covered marshmallow things, and they were so good..." Lithuania said dreamily. "I sure wish I could have one now..."

"I remember the rainbow cake that America brought that everyone was afraid to eat." said HK.

Estonia laughed. "There were some of England's scones that nobody wanted to touch."

"And there was some of France's food, that stuff was delicious."

"Mm, yeah..."

"Once this is all over, we could ask him for some food," said Lithuania.

"And now I'm hungry," said Latvia.

"I think we're near a restaurant." HK scanned the streets near them, and caught sight of a sign proclaiming "Spain's Tomato Café!" It was an unanimous decision to follow the signs. The meeting still wouldn't be for an hour, and this was close enough that they wouldn't have to run to make it to the meeting they called.

As they neared the Tomato Café, a brown-haired figure ran to the door and waved vigorously at them. "Definitely Spain," said Estonia, as if there were any doubt to the nation's identity.

"Hola!" shouted Spain from the door. "Have you come to eat my food?"

"Yes," said HK.

"Oh, hooray! We don't get much business since the people are afraid of the aliens. Come in!" Spain ushered them in and pointed at the cleanest looking of three tables. "Romano hasn't been cleaning again," he sighed, and pushed crumbs off the edge hastily before practically throwing a menu at them. "Pick something!"

"Ah, I'll have this," said Estonia, pointing at the only item on the menu: Fresh Tomatoes. "Four?" asked Spain, pencil poised to take their orders. "Sure," said Lithuania.

Spain disappeared and came back with Romano in tow. The latter looked bored and annoyed. "Could I interest you in a 'Shut Up' shirt?" Spain asked.

"Um-"

"Look, see how good Romano looks in it?" Romano turned around at the mention of his name. "Hn?"

Spain rambled on. "With four orders of Fresh Tomatoes, you can get a free shirt! Oh, wait, you already ordered four tomatoes. Here, have a free shirt!" He threw the shirt at them, and it landed on Latvia's face. By the time the small nation disentangled himself from it, Spain was in the kitchen, Romano trailing lazily behind.

"That was weird," said HK.

"You said it."

"Well, I'm cold," said Latvia, and tugged the huge shirt over his small frame.

"There's that," said Estonia to no one in particular.

Spain returned with four enormous tomatoes balanced on large plates. With practiced ease, he slid them across the table and then set his elbows on it. "So what brings you over here?"

"Aliens!" said Latvia unspecifically through a mouthful of tomato.

"He means to say we're gonna have a meeting about the aliens," HK clarified. "At the old place. D'you wanna come?"

"There are _aliens_?" asked Romano, poking his head through the doorway. Lithuania groaned and dropped his head onto the table.

"Go outside and see," said Estonia, who'd took it upon himself to do all the talking.

Romano went outside and looked up. Then he re-entered, flailing his arms. "There are aliens? Since when?"

Lithuania, who'd resumed eating the tomato, facetabled again.

"A day or so." said Estonia.

"Really?"

"Really really. And that's why we called you to ask about the other nations."

"Because of the aliens?"

Lithuania facetabled for the third time.

"Because," continued Estonia patiently, "they've gone missing. You know, they convened a meeting about the aliens and now they're gone."

Romano was silent for a few moments, processing this information. Then he shouted "Hey, Tomato Bastard! Now we know why Veneziano hasn't been coming around! He's missing! Maybe the aliens took him!"

Spain flinched and covered his ears. He was standing right next to Romano, and boy, was he _loud_.

Again, Lithuania's face met the table. "I think I have a bruise coming," he said, muffled.

Then Romano blanched. "What if they take me, too? Spain, save meee~" He dove under the table the four of them were eating their tomatoes on, upending the whole piece of furniture and knocking over Spain in the process.

While Spain tried to coax Romano out from under the sideways table, the other four sat in various stages of eating for a full thirty seconds before devouring the last bites of tomato. Spain crouched down, pulling on Romano's foot where it stuck out from the table to the tune of several Italian invectives. "So how much did that cost?" asked Lithuania after a moment.

"I knew I shouldn't've let my dumb brother go with that potato bastard! It's his fault my fratello is gone!" Romano screeched.

"Now, now, now," soothed Spain, "Germany isn't that bad."

"YES HE IS!" bellowed Romano. "HE'S FUCKING SCARY AND HE'S GONNA KILL US! HE'S SIDED WITH THE ALIENS!"

"Can we say ten litai?" said Lithuania to the back of Spain's head.

"Why don't you leave without paying?" hissed Estonia.

"Because I have morals." said Lithuania, getting out his wallet.

"Hey, these guys are having a meeting too, aren't they?" Romano stabbed a finger in the general direction of the foursome. "Well here's a news flash for you! I'M NOT GOING TO YOUR FUCKING MEETING, YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME ABDUCTED!"

HK held the door open for Latvia. "We'll be going, then."

As they walked out of the café, Spain shouted "We'll come, but we'll be late!" Which was instantly drowned out by refusals from Romano.

A few blocks away, HK said "That was weird."

"And scary!" added Latvia.

Lithuania turned to the smaller nation to say something, but they turned the corner and his mouth fell open.

"Oh...my..."

For in front of them, solemn under the perpetual alien twilight, was the meeting building. Or what was left of it, anyway.

Great chunks of stone and concrete were cracked and shattered. Broken glass was scattered like dew over the ground. A few lonely spires of wood and plaster reached for the sky, but it was maintained that the building was destroyed.

"What happened to this place?" asked Estonia.

"It looks like the roof was torn off and then dropped back onto the rest of the building." HK began to pick his way through the rubble.

"This-this is terrible," said Latvia rather obviously.

Something in the rubble moved, and they all jumped back, hearts pounding. HK was first to react. "Oh, it's just Gun-Gun!" He held out his arms and the tiny panda crawled into them.

Estonia gave a nervous laugh at being startled by something so innocuous. It was just China's panda. Which led to the question: Where was China? Or the rest of them, for that matter?

HK worked on teasing a scrap of cloth out of the small jaws. "This is part of China's backpack," he said, holding the beige material up to the dull light of a streetlamp. "I recognize it."

Lithuania kicked at a curving sliver of splintered wood and metal. "This looks like it used to be Russia's pickaxe." He tugged it further out of the rubble to study it, noting with distaste the old bloodstains on the haft.

Latvia was distracted by a long gleam. "Isn't this Japan's sword? What's it doing here?"

"What if they're buried?" asked Estonia, and for a time there was nothing but the sound of the nations frantically overturning stones and weakening the already dangerously destabilized structure further. Thankfully, there seemed to be nothing. They sat back and let their sweat cool in the brisk wind.

"So the aliens did this?" asked HK, who hadn't let go of the panda. "Destroyed the building?"

"They may have taken the G8," said Lithuania grimly.

"One thing's for certain," said Latvia, and the others turned to look at him. He shrunk a little under their gaze. "I mean, we're gonna have to get a new building. I went to the park near here once, and there was a big enclosed assembly hall for lecturing or something." He shrugged. "We could go there."

"Lead the way," said Estonia.

The park and the building weren't very far away. They walked to it, after making a sign pointing in the correct direction. The four nations sat under the roof quietly, even as other nations began filing in. They really _had_ called everyone, and the place was full before long. The building's power grid had long blown out, but Estonia managed to rig up some sort of emergency generator that set the lights to filmy and flickering instead of black.

Everyone glanced nervously from face to face, reading emotions and thoughts as if they were off a book. HK, Estonia, and Latvia all turned to Lithuania, and they realized with some surprise they wanted him to lead the meeting.

"So," began Lithuania hesitantly, standing on a chair to make himself seen.. "The G8 probably have been taken by the aliens."

It was a testament to the assembled nations' self control that none of them made a sound louder than a talk. He'd been half expecting them to go into an uproar, seeing how loud and aggravating they usually were. The brunette was pleasantly surprised.

"We want to get them back, right?"

General sounds of agreement. Denmark cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted "OF COURSE WE DO."

"So," Lithuania went on, pushing his hair back nervously, "what can we do?"

And to that, the response was lost in silence.

* * *

I feel like I should have you know that when I typed the part where Estonia said, "...and that's why we called you to ask about the other nations," I typed "...to ask about the other tomatoes." Spain is influencing my brain :O


	11. Projection and Chaos

**A/N: This is coming in directly from Chapter 10. **

**Thank you, A Field of Starlight, for bringing to my attention the fact that China is not part of the G8; Canada is. However, for the purpose of this story, let's pretend that China has Canada's spot on the G8. Canada will come in later, no worries ^U^ ****Sometimes people call the Netherlands 'Holland', but I don't. If this irritates you, I apologize. I think I've apologized for maybe six things in these already.**

**Review! Favorite! Follow! PM me! I really don't care as long as you do one! Make my day by doing at least one of the listed options! :D**

* * *

And then, from outside the building, there was a sound like a thunderclap but louder. The panicked mob of nations ran outside, where they saw it was starting to rain, or more to the moment, mist. The air was full of shimmering beads that would've almost been pretty.

Light suddenly sprouted from the bottoms of the hexagons near them, blanketing the sky, the individual beams coalescing into one big projection. A face. An alien face, thin and narrow and just _alien_, multifaceted eyes gleaming in the greenish glow.

"Hello, planet creatures," hissed something in a combination of mangled languages. Each nation heard the alien speak in its home language, and this added to the overall disturbing effect. Not mentioning the sideways pincers swollen outwards from the mouth as it spoke, and the gray, corpse-like skin riding up over them as it pronounced the unfamiliar syllables.

"What do we want?" boomed the alien. "Your resources. We will suck your savage little planet dry, as we've done with the other worldlets. Several few, and another here today. We will be your masters, and you will be our slaves for the duration of this interaction, at least until we have no more use for you."

"What's in it for us?" shouted someone in the crowd. Unsurprisingly, the projection continued as if it hadn't heard.

"And you, you will get the eight we took away back. We've studied you creatures, and we understand your bonds, and how to get into your skulls and crack your psyche wide open. We are not afraid to do so, and in fact we already have started. It is a process equal to roughly a week of your human days -eight, I believe-, and if you receive them at all, they may not be the same. Hurry up."

Lithuania was focused raptly on the projection, but part of him wondered - _Eight days a week?_

The projection flickered, and then a quick montage of the battered nations appeared. Italy, crying as usual. Germany with bruises, leaning against the wall and leaving a bloody handprint. Japan. China. France and England, America actually looking sad for once and then Russia, staring at the back of his palm with empty eyes.

The nations were in an uproar. The "WHAT DID THAT POTATO-BASTARD DO TO YOU?" [or something along the lines of that] the Baltics expected to hear was not present, so Romano and Spain must've been later than they said.  
"OI, WEST, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!" warred with "You stupid aliens have injured my brother? Prepare to die!" and "…he's never sad, ever…" The noise was deafening, and Lithuania wanted to duck under the table he'd been standing on. _And yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away...now it feels as if they're here to stay..._

The projection winked out, but the rain tripled in intensity. They rushed back inside, the night once again as dark as it had been. Darker, actually, for the streetlight outside the assembly hall had been blown out somehow.

Once assembled in the assembly hall, there was one second of pure, complete silence. It was actually possible to hear a drop of water sliding along the side of a face and hitting the ground. A tear or a raindrop?

Then the second passed. Chaos was the only word for it. A shoving, brawling mass, screeching and waving around weapons and a general all-out frenzy. Freaking out was the order of the day.

Eventually, Estonia dragged Lithuania out from under the table and thumped him in the foot to make him shout. It worked too well, Estonia's peculiar method of quieting the nations, and Lithuania felt a blush rising in his cheeks. He hated being the center of attention, but he couldn't stop now.

"So…" he wavered. "we have to think about this." It was basically a trade; the Earth and her resources for the G8. Or don't trade, and have the eight major nations of the world blown apart. It should've been an easy choice, but it was anything but.

Belarus shouted "We don't need to think! Screw the Earth, we need my brother back!" Her face looked particularly radiant as she shouted, her ash-blond hair whipping around her indigo eyes. Lithuania tried not to stare.

"I hate to seem like an ass," said Norway, "but don't we actually need to think about this? I mean, yes, the nations are very important, but this is our _home_ we're talking about here. We can't just hand it over to them on a silver platter."

"Can we?" asked Canada, but as usual everyone ignored him.

"Maybe we could negotiate with them!" said Taiwan hopefully, but Macau was shaking his head.

"We could sacrifice Romania to them," said Hungary, casting a biting glare towards said nation.

"Ha, ha, very funny," spat Romania. "How about I rip you apart?"

"Hold on," said Austria, "I'm seriously considering this."

"What- hey, I have rights!" protested Romania, eyes darting around nervously. "Anybody vouch for me?"

"I don't like you!" said Prussia. "You tried to eat Gilbird once!"

He turned towards Turkey, wanting someone else to yell at. "Why the mask, bird-name? Your face freaky?"

Turkey took a giant step towards him and grabbed a fistful of his collar. _"Don't_ insult the mask." Prussia choked and sputtered, clawing at Turkey's arms until Greece sided with Prussia, hurling an enraged cat at the masked nation. "I don't like you either," said Greece in his slow voice. "Bring it."

Austria went and stood next to Turkey. "You're against Prussia, so I'm with you," he said, prim as always. Hungary stood next to him and answered Greece; "Don't mind if I do." She swung her frying pan at the two nations.

"Don't I get a side?" asked Romania, who ducked under the swing and gestured to Hungary and Prussia. "I mean, _you_ hate me, and _you_ don't like me, so what do I do?"

"We shouldn't be taking sides!" called Lithuania, who felt the situation sliding out of control. Nobody listened. Seconds later, blows were exchanged, and the meeting once again degenerated.

"I could smash your foot again!" suggested Estonia a bit too eagerly. "No!" squawked Lithuania.

Canada murmured, "Aaand here we go again. People are idiots."

"Who're you?" asked Kumajiro.

After a minute in which the shouting grew louder, Lithuania called Switzerland, who was standing on the other side of the room that might as well have been a minefield. "Um, hello?"

"Hello. What do you want?"

"Could you just shoot the air or something, get their attention?" Lithuania was desperate for quiet again.

"It hurts my ears too." With that, Switzerland hung up. A moment later, two sharp gunshots shattered even the loud noise in the hall. "Hey, you lot! Shut up, because in a week, we might not even have a place worth fighting for."

Everyone shut up.

"Thanks," said Lithuania. "Now, we need a plan of some sort, because it's the Earth, or them."

"Maybe they'll kill us all either way," said the Netherlands darkly.

"Maybe." said Lithuania. "But we have to come up with _something._ So what are we going to do?"

It was the same question asked as it was five minutes ago, and the response was the same: Nobody wanted to say anything, or nobody knew.

* * *

A/N:Sorry about the stupid ending.


	12. Snowflake Powder

**A/N: Two chapters out today! It's a new record!**

**The next POVs might be China a lot, because everybody loves China, right? :3**

**Review! :D**

* * *

China woke up groaning, his mouth feeling sticky. His head was pounding, and he found he'd chewed through his lower lip.

Fearing that he'd had a flashback on the opium wars -the effect of opium was close to how he felt now- he groped around for a weapon.

His hand met what felt like a turd, and he withdrew it too quickly, making white spots dance across his vision.

And then he remembered the nightmare.

His breath caught as he fought against it in his head, unwilling to let the dark roots of terror take hold again. The one he was most afraid of on a rampage, killing at least three before the nightmare floated away.

_Was it only a nightmare? Was it, aru? _He had no way to tell if anyone was alive. For all he knew, he was trapped in a cell for the murderer to come back and torture later. In this gray place, anything could be.

In an effort to calm himself, he broke off a piece of the brown-green slab of turd on the tray and tossed it at the bars. It bounced off the open air between two as if there was a solid wall there and flopped squishily back towards him.

Now bored instead of afraid, China tried again. This time, as it neared the bars, a sort of electricity snapped down the length of it and turned it into a pile of ash with a loud sizzle.

He decided not to throw any more of the slab – he couldn't think of it as food, not yet – at the bars. Maybe he'd get better food if he didn't eat it….

But then again, maybe they'd stop feeding him.

With one foot, he nudged the tray away from him and let himself fall into a sleep that was thankfully dreamless, either not noticing or not caring about the sweet-scented white flakes falling from the ceiling.

A timeless time later, he woke up. Sort of. The time between waking and dreaming, when you can fall back under or jerk fully awake. He was lying on the ground, feeling a strange sense of peace, watching the aliens go through the contents of all the nations' pockets. He could see the rest of the nations were in here too, vague dark hulks on the ground, and he wondered if he should go wake them up too. But something was wrong with his vision; it danced around like sheets in a strong wind. Instead of thinking too hard, he focused on the closer aliens, who were curiously poking through a pile of phones, an extra hamburger, a stick of chalk, a rose, a pack of pasta, and a can that probably used to have beer in it.

Coming a bit more out of his daze, he realized his Hello-Kitty phone was among the pile, and wanted to bash his head against the wall when he realized he simply could've called someone at any time to let them know they were in trouble. He itched to reach out and take his phone back but he wasn't moving. Like he was paralyzed.

One of the phones rang and all the aliens jumped. China would've laughed, but it was too much effort, and besides, he was feeling strange.

"Hey, West, come bail me out of Austria's house. If I step outside this room, Hungary'll brain me." He recognized Prussia's voice.

Some powder seemed to be falling from the ceiling, and he was tired, so he went back to sleep.

China woke up, thinking that he'd had a strange dream or forgotten something important. He snatched at the memory of sound and white powder, but it was gone, leaving nothing salvageable behind.

"I've been doing a lot of sleeping lately, haven't I, aru?" he said to himself, and wondered if that meant he was going crazy. Talking to himself. "There's just nothing to do, aru." He answered himself.

After trying to amuse himself by throwing pieces of hair at the electrified bars and watching the resulting piles of ash tumble down, he decided to make a tally of how many awakes and asleeps he had. There was no way to tell time, because he hadn't worn his watch.

China spat on the ashes and stirred them into a paste, pretending to be using the old calligraphic tools of his culture. The ashy water didn't even come close to resembling ink, but hey, he tried.

Dipping a finger in the streaky 'ink', he drew an uneven line on the gray wall. One. One waking. But there had been more than that, right? Four or five, right? Unable to figure it out, he simply tallied up five.

Then white flakes tumbled from the ceiling like snow.

China held his breath. He didn't want a repeat of the nightmares, or the escaped memory that may or may not have been bad that still eluded him.

But he could only hold his breath for so long, and the powder kept falling, sliding around him and landing on him. Finally, China inhaled with an explosive gasp, sending the snowflake powder tumbling.

And was unconscious in the time it took to breathe it in.

* * *

He still dreamed, not a nightmare yet, of a gray sky and a slate ocean, crawling up to a beach of silver ash sand. The shoreline swung around a curve and vanished into thick fog.

In the dream he was barefoot in the shallows, perhaps ten feet out, the water swirling around his knees. He felt the sand erode out from under him. The waves tugged at him, and the see loomed beyond, a menacing mass of water boiling into a furious tide.

Suddenly afraid, he turned and splashed towards shore, before the new wall of water could reach him and…what? Drown him? He was a proficient swimmer, and he wasn't that far out. But the water clung to him like molasses, and each time he turned to peer around, the new wave was closer, and when he looked back he was farther from shore.

The next time he turned around a fist of water punched him in the face and swamped him in choking thickness, knocking him head over heels in the turbulent froth.

Somehow his head surfaced and he struggled blindly for the silver shore, literally clawing the water aside to force his passage. It pulled him back and played with him, cat and mouse, tossing him back and forth until when his outstretched hands met soft, waterlogged sand, he didn't believe it at first.

He crawled up and lay panting beyond the cruel ocean's reach. It raged impotently, throwing arms of itself up behind him. All fell short.

Eventually, he roused himself and crawled further up the beach, evolving from hands and knees to just knees and then feet. The ocean hissed further up the beach behind him, and he threw himself forwards into a bright light, across the threshold of awareness for the fourth time.


	13. All Together Now

**Whee, just having chapters running into each other. This chapter is also a continuation of the last one, because, I admit, it is very easy to write from China's perspective. At least for me. Apologies for Russia acting very OOC.**

**When I started this typing this, exam week was coming up, and now school's out! W00t XD**

** Sorry I don't update more, I spend my free time reading funny stuff and then don't have the heart to continue writing creepy stuff, and stuff that makes me feel awkwardish. But here it is! ^w^ **

**Thanks to all those who review, and keep doing so!**

* * *

So China sat up, a bit annoyed at being knocked unconscious so much. He remembered the white powder and wondering if it had done anything to him. Well, anything besides the obvious, that is. He took mental inventory of his injuries. No new throbbing wounds, no more infinity-sting marks. At least not on the surface.

_The aliens have mercy,_ he thought. _And yet they choose not to use it, aru. _Well at least _this time_ they did. He shivered, remembering the stings and the fire that came after.

And then he looked around properly.

_We are back together again, aru_! He thought exuberantly. _Surely now we can think of an escape. America will have one of his heroic plans and we can all go home…_

He crawled –walking was overrated- over to the still-unconscious nation, giving the waking-up Japan a light tap on the shoulder. "America." China shook him. "Wake up, we need you to be a hero, aru."

England met China at America's side, and China noticed that there were flecks of red blotting the other nation's unkempt tie. _What happened?_ He wanted to ask, but instead he said "Now that we're all together again, we can plan, we can escape, ahen," disregarding his usual animosity towards him. England nodded, still looking a bit bewildered by it all. He turned to his ex-brother. "Wake up, you bloody git. We've got work to do. Wake up." He shook America, and China edged away, feeling superfluous and awkward.

"What happened?" groaned Japan, sparkle-less eyes dull. He looked as if he were about to throw up. China knew the feeling, and moved back a little to give him space if he did indeed decide to spew. "They knocked us out and rounded us up, aru." he answered.

"Okay," said Japan, looking less nauseous with his hands over his eyes. "I feel sick." He announced it with no great inflection, as usual. "I suppose it's the food." China remembered the sharp scent that the vaporized slime had given off. "The food could have chemicals in it that make us sick, aru. Like opium." His face hardened, and he glared at England, who was still trying to get America to wake up.

Japan sat up and then winced. "I think you might be right. I'll tell Germany." Still too shaky to get to his feet, he crawled in the direction of Germany, who was peering closely at a sting mark on Italy's hand, while the latter looked upset.

"Aiyaa," sighed China. "How does he ever bear it, aru?" Then he glanced over at England and France, who were squabbling again. America had woken up, and was laughing, albeit without his usual bubbly joy. _I'm one to talk, _he thought glumly to himself. He counted off the nations he saw. _Yi, er, san, shi, wu, liu, qi…_

_Qi? Only seven?_ Where was Russia? A creeping fear lodged itself in his mind. The one he was most afraid of. Was he going to fulfill his part in the nightmare?

_Empty bodies with lightless eyes piled on top of eachother in tilting towers. And in the center of it all stood a murderer streaked with red. _

"No." China pressed his hands into his eyes. "No more nightmares, aru. They're not real, not real, not real…" It dissolved into a chant of meaningless syllables. Were the words now meaningless as well?

_"So," said the murderer, "You've come." He grinned, and the still-damp blood on his clothes seemed to grow longer and darker and writhe all over like tentacles. "Have you ever healed someone's life in your hand?" The murderer raised a blood-crusted glove. China backed up, hitting a stack of of corpses, each still bleeding in some way. Gushing or oozing, it was still blood. One fell on him, and the feeling of the dead flesh against him made him want to scream. _

China began rocking back and forth, tearing at the scabs on his lips with his teeth until his teeth were red, and his mouth was salty. "-they'renotrealthey'renotrealthey'renotreal-"

_"Because it's quite an experience, I tell you." The murderer advanced, and China heaved the collapsed corpses off of him with the strength of panic. There was nowhere else to go. "here," said the murderer thoughtfully, and reached a red-stained hand into an equally bloody pocket, fishing out a handful of things China couldn't see. __"These are for you." _

_China stared at the outstretched fist and didn't move. _

_"Take it." The murderer's voice was colder than snow. "Or I will kill you."_

_China reached out with shaking hands and cupped his palms. "Wise choice," said the murderer approvingly as he dropped the round sticky things into the bowl of fingers. _

_He felt warm wetness sticking to his hands and looked away, swallowing down bile. Whatever it was, he didn't want to know. __"Look." Still fearful, China shook his head._

_"Look." The voice had dropped ten degrees again, and a damp hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look or have his jaw snapped off._

"-they'renotrealthey'renotreal-" China was curled up in the fetal position, eyes squeezed shut, hands locked around his knees.

_Eyes. Just eyes, not connected to anything, brown and blue and green and gold. Familiar eyes. Two stern blue eyes that sometimes creased into a smile, trailing optic fibers. Two excitable cornflower-blue eyes, usually encased behind glasses. One pair of cynical green eyes. Blue like a sunrise, usually flirtatious but now empty. Gold eyes that normally were closed tight. And the brown eyes of the child he'd raised. _

_He did throw up then, unsocketed eyes falling to the ground, where the murderer caught them and put them in his pocket and laughed. "Now you." He started forwards, twirling a knife. China pressed against the corpses, sending more tumbling down on him. The knife traced his eyelid as he trembled in paralyzing fear. As the pressure started, China came to his senses, shoving corpses at the murderer and running for his life. _

"China? Are you okay?" Japan was gently shaking the other nation. China's eyes snapped open. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, and his terror-filled heart was beating like a jackhammer. He looked up, gold eyes wild and fearful, and then drowning with relief.

" Nǐ méi yǒu sǐ… Nǐ yǒu yǎnjīng…" _You aren't dead. You still have your eyes._ He raised his hand and brushed it over his brother's eyelids. Japan gave him the look he normally reserved for the western nations' antics. "Are you all right?"

China was shivering, very slightly, the way Latvia did when Russia was talking to him. "Bù! Wo bù hao…"_No! I'm not good… _"The nightmares," he gasped, finally in English again. "I hate them, they're everywhere, aru." His eyes flitted around the room and settled. His pulse, which had been slowing, shot up again.

Because the murderer was there, curled up lonely in the corner. Nobody here that wasn't afraid of him.

Russia. The murderer. Interchangeable. One bleeding and laughing, the other hiding away.

China staggered to his feet, the blood roaring in his ears. He stabbed a finger at Russia, who looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Nǐ!" He spat, mixing Chinese and English in an unwieldy twist of languages. "Nǐ! Stay away from wǒ de jia! Stay away from wǒ de dìdì!"

Russia buried his face in his knees, not knowing what he'd done wrong. Extreme stress, like this, made him sometimes more child-like. In the darkness he created, there were the outlines of burning sunflowers, and he opened his eyes again with a gasp.

China was still yelling. "DON'T COME NEAR MY FAMILY! LEAVE US ALONE, ARU!" His pulse resounded in his ears, and it was harder to breathe. Calmer now, but only slightly, he said "Please, don't kill them, aru. Bù yao sha wǒ de jia rén."

He opened his mouth to say something else but something in his body went _pop_ – and like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he fell into a peaceful darkness that embraced him.

Russia did not understand. He'd done nothing, had not even spoken to China here, and yet he was being screamed at. He felt like a child who'd been falsely accused of some heinous crime. "Не понимаю," he whispered. _I don't understand. _

Japan rushed to his older brother's side, feeling frantically for a pulse. He fumbled nervously at the wrist for the longest time, and then the tension went out of him with a whoosh.

"What was that all about? Has China gone round the bend or what?" asked America bluntly. Japan was at his throat in an instant. "Neither," he hissed, actually angry. The sheer fact that Japan was angry shut America up. Everyone else stared at this rare occurrence. _Japan...angry? What'd happened to the world? _

And then Russia screamed, not loud, more of a moan, but the emotions it carried could make it a scream, if emotions controlled the sound and not the throat. "нет…" And he began weeping nearly silently, at that moment, utterly defeated.

The other nations turned away and shifted sort of ashamedly. By silent vote, Italy was elected to try and soothe him. He'd probably be the best at it, anyway. Awkwardly, he crouched next to Russia and gingerly put his arm around the scary nation. Though right now he wasn't scary so much as…not pitiful, for he was still sort of scary, but something along those lines. In all seriousness, Italy asked, "What's wrong?"

Without lifting his head, Russia whispered, "Everything." Pause. "Burning sunflowers in all directions under a burning sky, and my sisters burning, all of them."

France, pretending not to be watching like everyone else, thought of the fun he'd once tried to have with Ukraine (before Belarus came in and nearly broke his neck), and wisely decided not to mention it.

"Everything is burning," whispered Russia, shoulders shaking. With patience Italy must've used to make Romano stop running around and screaming curses, Italy rubbed his hand in soothing circles on the other nation's back, feeling very strange.

"спасибо." said Russia uncomfortably, wishing he didn't just show a weakness. It could be used in war, and exploited. But now, having at least one person pretend to like him, it made him feel better. He looked up. His face was clear, but slightly fragile-seeming, as if it were a reflection in a puddle. "You can go now."

Italy stood up. There was an uneasy silence now, until Japan started talking to America about making a plan to get out. France joined in.

"We need to get out of here." America's voice was tense.

"No, really?" said France sarcastically, gingerly prodding a burn on his leg where, in the throes of the nightmare, he'd blundered into the electrified bars.

"How?" asked Japan, more practically. "We're probably in space, and if not, we're really high up in the atmosphere, leading to a long fall if we don't have anything to catch us.

"We have snow!" said Russia, seemingly back to his usual cheery self. "You don't need a parachute if you have snow!"

"You broke your back," said England critically.

"So? Is there a problem with breaking backs? I'd rather break my back and get out of here." That brought a somber mood over the nations.

Japan continued. "The aliens hate us, there are no doors to this room, and the bars in our cells are electrified, as you all know." He counted off the points on his fingers. "The aliens can walk through the bars as if they're not there. I've tried touching the bars by lying on the floor as it entered, and the electricity was definitely still there." He held up a swollen-looking fingertip. Catching the looks from the other nations, he added "Believe me, I really do want to escape, but I see no way out of here at the moment."

"We could all just die," said Russia, his voice empty, cheeriness fleeing as soon as it appeared.

"What?" yelped America, startled. But Japan seemed to be considering this suggestion. "No more nightmares," he sighed, almost wistfully.

"I've only had one," said Germany, leaving Italy sleeping on the ground. "It was more than enough," whispered England.

"I've never screamed so much in my life," said Japan, his voice devoid of emotion. However, the implacable mask on his face cracked, just a little. Once again, the countries looked at him in surprise. Today was a day for Japan to spring surprises, a depth of character they'd only suspected he'd had.

"I feel the same." France's hands unconsciously went to his throat.

"Sooo, escape." America tried to shift the subject onto less morbid things.

"They must want us alive for some reason." said Germany roughly. "Otherwise they would've killed us at the building.

"Maybe we're ransom," suggested England in his whispering voice.

"What do we have that they don't?" mused France. "Money? Resources? Gorgeous people?" They shared a tired smile at the old joke.

"I wish we could contact the others," sighed Japan. "Maybe they know what is going on. Does anyone have a phone?"

The assembled nations searched their pockets. Japan patted down China, and Germany rifled through Italy's pockets.

"They must've taken them." America looked downcast. "Now what?"

Germany frowned. "I'm trying to remember something…it feels important…" The others stared at him, but he waved them off. "Forget it. It's probably not important anyway."

Italy sat up suddenly, beaming. "Have you all come up with a genius plan for us to escape?"

"Ah- no," said Germany. "But we're working on it." The other nations nodded vigorously, pasting smiles onto their faces.

"Yayy!" cheered Italy. "With you people all thinking, we'll be out of here in no time!" He promptly flopped back down, apparently asleep.

"I'm glad you have faith in us." said Japan gravely.

"My little brother is sometimes like a little child," sighed France, meaning Italy. "Always looking on the bright side, always trusting us to save him."

"Mostly _me_, saving him," muttered Germany.

"We can't go die and just leave him here." France finished.

"No," agreed Japan.

Russia murmured something that sounded like "Wouldn't matter to me, I'm just the big, bad, scary nation. I'll make no promises."

America said, ignoring him, "So, we have to all get through this. If not for ourselves and for the people back at home, then for Italy."

"Everyone likes Italy, don't they?" said England, and then coughed. "But sure, I'll stay around for him."

As one, they all looked over at Italy, sprawled out snoring on the ground, and then looked at each other. "But," noted America, "If we're going to all stay alive, we need something to live for."

"Like escape." finished Germany. America looked from face to face. "Do we all solemnly swear to try anything to escape together?"

Russia pushed to his feet. "Da, I can swear to that"

"Same here." France put out his hand.

"For once, I agree with the frog." England also extended his hand.

"I'm the hero! Of course I can!" America added his hand to the pile.

"That is reasonable." Germany offered his hand as well.

"Me too, and I also vouch for China." Last but not least, Japan's hand topped the pile.

"Now what?" ventured France.

In answer, a fine dusting of powder floated down from the ceiling.

"DON'T BREATHE!" bellowed America. "IT'S KNOCKOUT POWDER!" He pulled the neck of his jacket over the bottom half of his face.

"This stuff fell earlier, didn't it?" asked Japan, removing his hands from his ears.

"Ja." Germany confirmed. "It only knocked us out."

"Maybe some of us could try and stay awake. Y'know, pretend, so when the buggers transport us out of here we could do something, get off this bloody ship." England's whisper was eager through the muffle of the tie he'd wrapped around his mouth.

"Sounds good," said Russia, his scarf around his face. "But don't make me stay awake, they hate me enough already." Fear flickered in his eyes. "My life will be hell. You can do it yourself, da?"

"All right," allowed Germany. "So not you."

They were all coated in powder by now, piling up on their heads and shoulders like snow.

Japan yawned. "I don't think I could do it…" He slowly sank down and was asleep.

"You can be the hero again, right America?" asked Germany. "I mean, I could try, but I'm also getting strangely tired…" His eyelids flicked down and back up.

"Yeah, I can do it. My jacket is thicker than all of your stuff." _Also, it still smells like hamburgers from the time I smuggled fifty into a meeting,_ he added silently._ What I wouldn't give for a hamburger now._ _Or ten._

He peered out of his jacket to see Germany sink down. France and Russia were already unconscious, accumulating piles of powder. Italy and China were barely visible.

England suppressed a yawn. "Y-you can do this, right, America? You're the hero, anyway…" and then he too was asleep.

America pretended to fall –well, really fell and pretended to be unconscious, sending up a plume of powder. He closed his eyes almost all the way, peering through his lashes at the world around him.

There was a barely audible hiss, and the powder stopped falling. Then, there were the muted clicks of clawed feet through a thick layer of powder as the aliens melted through the walls, silent as ghosts.

There were eight aliens in the room, one for each. America watched the one near Germany. It knelt, and held one hand above the nation's face for a moment before throwing the body over its shoulder, the scorpion tail coiled in such a way that if the nation so much as sneezed, the poison would work back into his system.

He recognized the big brute that originally stung Russia. It looked as if it wanted to sever the nation's spinal cord, but just satisfied itself with reopening the scabbed-over sting so the tan coat stained darker. Then the alien sheathed those prominent claws and threw him carelessly over a shoulder.

Then he closed his eyes tight as an alien came over to him and pulled the jacket over his head. He tried to look asleep despite the rush of adrenaline in his veins. Holding his breath and trying to look natural and unconscious was hard. The alien held its hand over his face and then jerked in surprise. America's mind raced. Had he been found out?

_Well, I'd better do something then, _he thought. _I _am_ the hero, after all. _At the same time, he remembered the utterly inhuman voice of the alien, and the scratchy writing on the screen.

_You will never be the hero._

His eyes flew open, almost grateful for the distraction from his melancholy thoughts, at a cold touch on his face. The alien was holding a clear vile that wafted the same sickly-sweet smell of the powder, patiently waiting for America to breathe it in.

And with a start, he realized that his lungs were bursting. He wouldn't hold out much longer.

He felt sinking despair. _DO SOMETHING, _clamored the States in his head. _Get up! Do something!_

Spurred on, he kicked out at the aliens, spilling the liquid away from his face and knocking the creature over. He sprang to his feet to avoid a startled swipe, running to the walls and banging on them in the hopes that something, _anything_ would happen. He pulled jacket he'd heroically grabbed over his face.

A claw punctured the fabric and tore it away from him and America, who'd been taking a much-needed breath of clean air, found his nose full of the scent of overripe oranges, and his brain was shutting down. Slowly, he slid to the floor, Texas falling off his face and being captured by one clumsy hand.

The aliens further hastened his expedition to unconsciousness by helpfully whacking the base of his skull with a claw. Blackness dripped down his vision until all the light was gone.

There was a pinpoint not too long after, blue and green and a smear of sky and an upset person, all bent up like crumpled paper. There was faded amber-colored light, and a box of hand-painted wooden soldiers. Snippets of an excited voice; "Look! They all have different faces!" And a suit, well made, but formal and itchy and hot. And then the battle, and England all crumpled up again, sobbing in the mud. The memory tilted off towards the nightmare side, but the darkness faded.

A million things crammed into his head that he might say, and finally, one sad little sentence.

And after that, the long years of luxuriating in freedom and growth and expansion and building up and becoming great, with a government full of idiots like any civilized country.

And always the ever-present loneliness, just a sliver of it, when he could convince himself that there really was that little.

Because everyone misses their family.

And just like that, America jerked awake, back in the cell in the hall once again.

He lay there for a long while before moving.

* * *

**Another fabulous A/N! : I must say, it was actually a lot harder than I thought to make Russia all OOC like that with only one nightmare, but a nightmare like that would scare the shiznits out of me too. Sorry I'm late! :3 Again I remind you kindly to review.**


	14. Useless Rain

**A/N: Since I'm a lazy, I abbreviated Hong Kong to HK. I think I'll keep doing that. Hopefully in here I didn't make Spain too much of a derp~**

**Language Warning: Contains Romano**

**You know you want to review :D**

* * *

Prussia woke up with a pounding headache. _Thanks, Hungary. You and that damn frying pan._

"Probably was jealous of my five meters," he said aloud, and instantly felt better. He pulled out his phone with one hand and dialed. "Hey, West, come bail me out of Austria's house. If I step outside this room, Hungary'll brain me." Then he frowned at it. He'd gotten West's answering machine. That hardly ever happened. He hung up before the message finished and then sighed, walking over the window to gauge the distance to the ground. The darkness made it hard. As he struggled with the sash, his phone rang again.

Ah, it was West, calling to apologize for not picking up. "I'm awesome!" he shouted into it.

"Great," said someone not West dryly. Who was this? Prussia checked the caller-ID. Ah. Estonia. "Have you seen any of the G8 since those explosions?" the un-awesome nation went on.

"What, you mean the G8? Nah."

"They're missing."

"Missing?" exclaimed Prussia. "Now I've got nobody to spring me from room-arrest!"

"This is important," said Estonia fiercely.

"So is getting my awesomely sexy body out of this room! Someone as awesome as me can't be hidden from the general public!"

Estonia sighed. "And what are you going to do about the aliens, then? Kill them with your awesome?"

Prussia was silent, indicating that Estonia had stolen his words.

"We're having a meeting." The blond nation sounded exhasperated.

"Where?"

"The old building."

"Kay! Seeya there!" Prussia jabbed the hang-up icon, wondering why he'd agreed.

* * *

"So, should we set up the building?" asked HK as the four of them walked over.

"Set up how?" inquired Estonia. "I just remember that it had the table and then all the lights on."

And once there was food!" said Latvia brightly. "I remember once there was a buffet, with food from all over the world."

"Poland had brought those chocolate-covered marshmallow things, and they were so good..." Lithuania said dreamily. "I sure wish I could have one now..."

"I remember the rainbow cake that America brought that everyone was afraid to eat." said HK.

Estonia laughed. "There were some of England's scones that nobody wanted to touch."

"And there was some of France's food, that stuff was delicious."

"Mm, yeah..."

"Once this is all over, we could ask him for some food," said Lithuania.

"And now I'm hungry," said Latvia.

"I think we're near a restaurant." HK scanned the streets near them, and caught sight of a sign proclaiming "Spain's Tomato Café!" It was an unanimous decision to follow the signs. The meeting still wouldn't be for an hour, and this was close enough that they wouldn't have to run to make it to the meeting they called.

As they neared the Tomato Café, a brown-haired figure ran to the door and waved vigorously at them. "Definitely Spain," said Estonia, as if there were any doubt to the nation's identity.

"Hola!" shouted Spain from the door. "Have you come to eat my food?"

"Yes," said HK.

"Oh, hooray! We don't get much business since the people are afraid of the aliens. Come in!" Spain ushered them in and pointed at the cleanest looking of three tables. "Romano hasn't been cleaning again," he sighed, and pushed crumbs off the edge hastily before practically throwing a menu at them. "Pick something!"

"Ah, I'll have this," said Estonia, pointing at the only item on the menu: Fresh Tomatoes. "Four?" asked Spain, pencil poised to take their orders. "Sure," said Lithuania.

Spain disappeared and came back with Romano in tow. The latter looked bored and annoyed. "Could I interest you in a 'Shut Up' shirt?" Spain asked.

"Um-"

"Look, see how good Romano looks in it?" Romano turned around at the mention of his name. "Hn?"

Spain rambled on. "With four orders of Fresh Tomatoes, you can get a free shirt! Oh, wait, you already ordered four tomatoes. Here, have a free shirt!" He threw the shirt at them, and it landed on Latvia's face. By the time the small nation disentangled himself from it, Spain was in the kitchen, Romano trailing lazily behind.

"That was weird," said HK.

"You said it."

"Well, I'm cold," said Latvia, and tugged the huge shirt over his small frame.

"There's that," said Estonia to no one in particular.

Spain returned with four enormous tomatoes balanced on large plates. With practiced ease, he slid them across the table and then set his elbows on it. "So what brings you over here?"

"Aliens!" said Latvia unspecifically through a mouthful of tomato.

"He means to say we're gonna have a meeting about the aliens," HK clarified. "At the old place. D'you wanna come?"

"There are _aliens_?" asked Romano, poking his head through the doorway. Lithuania groaned and dropped his head onto the table.

"Go outside and see," said Estonia, who'd took it upon himself to do all the talking.

Romano went outside and looked up. Then he re-entered, flailing his arms. "There are aliens? Since when?"

Lithuania, who'd resumed eating the tomato, facetabled again.

"A day or so." said Estonia.

"Really?"

"Really really. And that's why we called you to ask about the other nations."

"Because of the aliens?"

Lithuania facetabled for the third time.

"Because," continued Estonia patiently, "they've gone missing. You know, they convened a meeting about the aliens and now they're gone."

Romano was silent for a few moments, processing this information. Then he shouted "Hey, Tomato Bastard! Now we know why Veneziano hasn't been coming around! He's missing! Maybe the aliens took him!"

Spain flinched and covered his ears. He was standing right next to Romano, and boy, was he _loud_.

Again, Lithuania's face met the table. "I think I have a bruise coming," he said, muffled.

Then Romano blanched. "What if they take me, too? Spain, save meee~" He dove under the table the four of them were eating their tomatoes on, upending the whole piece of furniture and knocking over Spain in the process.

While Spain tried to coax Romano out from under the sideways table, the other four sat in various stages of eating for a full thirty seconds before devouring the last bites of tomato. Spain crouched down, pulling on Romano's foot where it stuck out from the table to the tune of several Italian invectives. "So how much did that cost?" asked Lithuania after a moment.

"I knew I shouldn't've let my dumb brother go with that potato bastard! It's his fault my fratello is gone!" Romano screeched.

"Now, now, now," soothed Spain, "Germany isn't that bad."

"YES HE IS!" bellowed Romano. "HE'S FUCKING SCARY AND HE'S GONNA KILL US! HE'S SIDED WITH THE ALIENS!"

"Can we say ten litai?" said Lithuania to the back of Spain's head.

"Why don't you leave without paying?" hissed Estonia.

"Because I have morals." said Lithuania, getting out his wallet.

"Hey, these guys are having a meeting too, aren't they?" Romano stabbed a finger in the general direction of the foursome. "Well here's a news flash for you! I'M NOT GOING TO YOUR FUCKING MEETING, YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME ABDUCTED!"

HK held the door open for Latvia. "We'll be going, then."

As they walked out of the café, Spain shouted "We'll come, but we'll be late!" Which was instantly drowned out by refusals from Romano.

A few blocks away, HK said "That was weird."

"And scary!" added Latvia.

Lithuania turned to the smaller nation to say something, but they turned the corner and his mouth fell open.

"Oh...my..."

For in front of them, solemn under the perpetual alien twilight, was the meeting building. Or what was left of it, anyway.

Great chunks of stone and concrete were cracked and shattered. Broken glass was scattered like dew over the ground. A few lonely spires of wood and plaster reached for the sky, but it was maintained that the building was destroyed.

"What happened to this place?" asked Estonia.

"It looks like the roof was torn off and then dropped back onto the rest of the building." HK began to pick his way through the rubble.

"This-this is terrible," said Latvia rather obviously.

Something in the rubble moved, and they all jumped back, hearts pounding. HK was first to react. "Oh, it's just Gun-Gun!" He held out his arms and the tiny panda crawled into them.

Estonia gave a nervous laugh at being startled by something so innocuous. It was just China's panda. Which led to the question: Where was China? Or the rest of them, for that matter?

HK worked on teasing a scrap of cloth out of the small jaws. "This is part of China's backpack," he said, holding the beige material up to the dull light of a streetlamp. "I recognize it."

Lithuania kicked at a curving sliver of splintered wood and metal. "This looks like it used to be Russia's pickaxe." He tugged it further out of the rubble to study it, noting with distaste the old bloodstains on the haft.

Latvia was distracted by a long gleam. "Isn't this Japan's sword? What's it doing here?"

"What if they're buried?" asked Estonia, and for a time there was nothing but the sound of the nations frantically overturning stones and weakening the already dangerously destabilized structure further. Thankfully, there seemed to be nothing. They sat back and let their sweat cool in the brisk wind.

"So the aliens did this?" asked HK, who hadn't let go of the panda. "Destroyed the building?"

"They may have taken the G8," said Lithuania grimly.

"One thing's for certain," said Latvia, and the others turned to look at him. He shrunk a little under their gaze. "I mean, we're gonna have to get a new building. I went to the park near here once, and there was a big enclosed assembly hall for lecturing or something." He shrugged. "We could go there."

"Lead the way," said Estonia.

The park and the building weren't very far away. They walked to it, after making a sign pointing in the correct direction. The four nations sat under the roof quietly, even as other nations began filing in. They really _had_ called everyone, and the place was full before long. The building's power grid had long blown out, but Estonia managed to rig up some sort of emergency generator that set the lights to filmy and flickering instead of black.

Everyone glanced nervously from face to face, reading emotions and thoughts as if they were off a book. HK, Estonia, and Latvia all turned to Lithuania, and they realized with some surprise they wanted him to lead the meeting.

"So," began Lithuania hesitantly, standing on a chair to make himself seen.. "The G8 probably have been taken by the aliens."

It was a testament to the assembled nations' self control that none of them made a sound louder than a talk. He'd been half expecting them to go into an uproar, seeing how loud and aggravating they usually were. The brunette was pleasantly surprised.

"We want to get them back, right?"

General sounds of agreement. Denmark cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted "OF COURSE WE DO."

"So," Lithuania went on, pushing his hair back nervously, "what can we do?"

And to that, the response was lost in silence.

* * *

I feel like I should have you know that when I typed the part where Estonia said, "...and that's why we called you to ask about the other nations," I typed "...to ask about the other tomatoes." Spain is influencing my brain :O


	15. Appease the Nightmares

**I shall try to update this at least one more time before I start camp. And thank you Roderica Edelstein for being a fabulous reviewer! :D I shall indeed keep up the awesomeness, thankee :D **

**On a less happy note I've really ticked off my mom so whenever I use my laptop, it's in "undercover computer mode" which means setting it up under my pillow and hiding it the rest of the time so she won't take it to work and leave it there again. :P **

**Contains: sort-of-not-really 2p Iggy, and Italy and the FIELD-CEPTION! MUAHAHAHA okay not really. Let's have a rundown of nightmares, shall we? **

* * *

Inside his head there were nightmares. Rags of yellow and red and black streamed past, a hurricane scooping up dust and stars and cleaning the flesh from his bones, and when he awoke, drenched in cold sweat, there were green and blue afterimages twirling across his vision.

Italy felt very small and very alone. He felt his thoughts dancing out of reach, his mind slipping away on wings of pasta. _They'll come up with a plan_! he chanted to himself, and briefly felt better.

But then the big cloud of loneliness felt like it was slowly strangling him. Italy had always been afraid of being alone. He had monophobia. He'd gotten Germany to look it up for him.

A high pitched chirp distracted him, and he saw a bird in the corner of his cell. It was small, and fat, and quite obviously wasn't there. If it were, it'd be implausibly tangible, as he'd heard Japan say before. He was bad at recognizing birds. This one was no different. It was white with gray and black feathers on the wings, and a narrow black beak. It hopped back and forth and tapped at the floor with its beak, searching in vain for food.

Enthralled, Italy slowly reached out to it, hoping it would come near him. To his great delight, it did, and even hopped onto his arm. He was hungry and tired and his mouth ached, and the floor of the cell was colder than the air, but the touch of the bird was soothing, and the least he could do was provide it a warm place to hide. It began nesting in his hair. Its little feet were warm against his scalp, a remembrance of life.

He closed its eyes. Almost instantly the cyclone of fire spun up behind his eyes, peeling his skin away and-

The bird pecked his head and hopped forwards to look into his eyes, which were actually open for once. It stared at him solemnly, and maybe it was just the moment, but Italy felt as if it were staring into his soul.

On a whim, he asked "Do you understand me?"

The bird chirped.

Italy's face lit up with a trace of the old cheerfulness. "Really?" And he found himself telling the whole story to the bird (who sat on his leg and watched him like a good listening complain does), about his life, about how much he missed HRE, about how he wished someone (preferably Germany, the rest were kinda scary) would rescue him…

And when all the words were dried up and empty, the bird hopped back onto his head and nestled securely in his hair.

It fell asleep. Determined not to be left alone, Italy also fell asleep, dreaming of a big field to fall asleep in.

* * *

Germany's nightmare was full of darkness and inhuman wails, fiery eyes glinting from the shadows. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but darkness was all there was, and the things that growled and snapped at his ankles seemed very much real. _Is it only a dream?_ he thought worriedly, and then tried to force his thoughts into order. _First things first, to find out where I am..._ he seemed to be on a small platform suspended above a pit of writhing creatures that hissed and screeched, and perhaps had wings, from the leathery flapping noises he heard. The platform he was on shuddered as something landed on the edge and hissed. He saw reflections off of fangs, and claws, and then it was upon him.

He fended it off with the barest of luck, the only injuries being several deep pinholes from the claws and fangs, and with a mighty kick forced it off the edge. Panting, he crouched where he felt the edge of it and tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes, only withdrawing when a set of jaws snapped shut inches from his face. Disheartened, he sat in the middle of his platform and tried to discover any feasible method of escape that wouldn't get him mauled. He leaned back and looked up to where tiny windows gleamed, spilling barely visible dusky light down onto his face.

Germany sighed, and as if on cue, a silhouette fluttered down from the windows. It was an awfully long drop, and the silhouette wasn't much but a dust mote that slowly got larger until a bird landed on his face. He blinked in surprise before looking at it straight in the eyes. The way the eyes were shaped and the crooked smile on the beak almost reminded him of Italy, and he almost laughed out loud. Instead of laughing, a smile came to his face, and with the smile, the realization that the unearthly sounds from below had ceased, and more light had filtered through the windows. He could see the ground. It was a dark beige, and dusty, but there were no sign of the beasts.

There was a door. He slid off the platform, reaching out for the bird, but it was gone. _Gone?_ Germany shrugged, though he felt a little sad, and, after a good heave, pushed the door open and left.

* * *

Japan was being buried alive. He was battered and dazed and his hair was matted with dried mud, a filthy rag stuffed into his mouth. His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were roped as well. He writhed in panic, stretching the bindings as familiar faces leered down at him, flinging shovelfuls of dirt down the pit until his vision was dark and he was confined to twisting, undignified, like a worm. _Why am I even here?_ he thought wildly, and strained with the soil's oppressing weight. _This can't be happening, there's nothing wrong with my economy and I haven't angered the others, have I_?He kept yanking at the bindings, and when he opened his mouth to scream, dirt slipped in around the edges and filled his throat with mud.

_Calm down. This isn't like you._ With much effort, he forced himself to be still and try to breathe as calmly as possible. The soil was still loose, time not having compressed it into a more solid block, and he was barely able to breathe. At least he could. It was a small comfort, though, since the little air he could breathe was quickly becoming stale, and there were colored lights at the edges of his vision.

He thrashed, but weaker now, and when he finally slumped in defeat, there was something warm by his neck. It pecked him, twice, as if to say 'Wake up!'

And the dream abruptly changed. The dirt slid off him like water, and he rose up and out. _Am I dead? _He wondered with no small amount of trepidation. But no, it wasn't to be. He wasn't dead.

He remembered the bamboo forests surrounding China's house, and found that he was young again. _These dreams work in mysterious ways. I'm reliving another memory, I see..._And so Japan exchanged a nightmare for a bittersweet memory.

* * *

China was still running from the murderer, breathe rasping loudly in his lungs as the malicious laugh seemed to emanate from everywhere. He whirled around again, legs screaming for a break, and saw the silhouette appear, the teeth gleaming white stained with red, even if the rest of the creature was indistinct. The eyes were heavy in his pocket as he ran on.

The pipe swung over his head and he missed it, barely. The murderer was gaining, and China feared to imagine what would happen to him if the murderer caught him. It was hard to distinguish between the nightmare and the nightmarish reality, and he found it surprisingly hard to pick which place he preferred.

There was a building ahead, solidly built, and even a strong creature like the murderer would take time to break his way in. Hope soared in his chest, only to be quenched viciously as the pipe snagged the back of his jacket. China tripped before he could shrug out of it and landed wrong on a sharp shard of metal. Warm blood flowed down his leg, and the murderer laughed and bent to catch a few dribbles in his hand. Repulsed by this action, the Asian nation shuddered and yanked away, drawing on hidden reserves of strength he'd never known he'd had, or had perhaps forgotten about.

_I'm still not going to make it, aru..._

A bird flitted past him, and the sight was so startling that he slowed to a stop to stare at it. Behind the bird came a trail of almost impossible color, a swath of red and gold friendlier than the surrounding red-gold light widening to engulf him, embrace him. It was a good light, and the murderer was left behind in the dust.

* * *

He was drowning when he awoke in the space of his dream, though at the time, he was not aware it was a dream. In his cell, water ran from the top corners, a methodical _drip, drip, drip_ that scared him. The water was already pooling around his knees, the narrow-spaced bars acting as a sort of invisible barrier. In the time it took to blink, France was up to his knees in water.

The water wasn't too cold, or too hot. It was just right, and that scared him more than it would've if the water was on either side of the heat spectrum.

Another blink. Flash flood up to his belly button. And then his shoulders. And then-

He was up to his head, and the water was turning darker around him until he couldn't see. France knew he was supposed to look for the bubbles, but it was too dark for the bubbles. He swam in the direction his head was, expecting to bump into the ceiling, but his hands met air and then found a rough, jagged surface. He pulled himself out - nevermind his hands, cuts heal - thanking all the gods he could think of, and rubbed the water from his eyes.

He wished he hadn't.

It wasn't water he was swimming in after all. It was blood, a great tide of it, as if every person who'd ever lived expired and vomited their blood up and out. He was perched on a fragment of a building, tossed and turned over and around the sides of ruined buildings. The sky was full of burgundy-tan clouds that tainted the light mauve. Everything was wrong with it...

France gasped. He knew this place.

He turned around, and just _knew_ he'd see the shape of the Eiffel Tower, drowned as well in blood. He let himself give in to despair, not even sparing a moment to wash the blood from himself. His tears did that well enough.

By and by there was a bird, small, black and white. He picked it up, leaving sticky red fingerprints on it, and wished himself back to his beautiful, normal, _not blood filled_ city.

As if by magic, his wish came true.

* * *

England screamed again as the fiery iron branded him again, shredding his already ragged green uniform for the umpteenth time. The pain was instant, a rocket to the brain. Another one.

His captor looked almost like him. Almost, but not quite. The basic build was the same, and the blond hair was nearly the same shade. Their faces were equally proportioned, but this not-him's eyes were a bright, dazzling turquoise, and there were pale freckles across his paler cheeks. This demon's teeth were pointed, and the ears were as well, as if he were an elf. Also, he had a hat, and was dressed in peculiar pink and blue clothes that were now painted crimson with blood.

"Some artists use pastels, and some paint. Some sketch with charcoal on starched white canvases. But only the best-" the demon paused and giggled, a shrill keening sound that hurt his brain, "paint with blood on the canvas of a human body." England was used to this intonation, having heard it several times.

_If you thought about it,_ England thought, _I am a painting in that way. But that's his point_. Instead of acknowledging the apparition's truth, he spat "You're _mad!" _

"Completely!" giggled the other. "Absolutely! Stellar realization, sir, it's not as if it's obvious." The breath was driven from England's lungs as the creature danced forwards and jammed the iron into his ribs again. England only barely stifled his scream. His throat hurt, and he wouldn't give the other the satisfaction.

"Never will you take me!" hissed England, glaring as blood dripped into his face. He could at least pretend to be defiant, even if he were quaking inside.

"Never will you take me!" mocked the other in a truly impressive copy of his voice. The brand dove in for the third time, possibly cracking some ribs, and England broke his promise not to scream.

As if he'd screamed it out, a bird with a wet red thumbprint on its chest flapped and landed in the hollow of England's caved-in ribs. The pain, sharp at first, healed him, a cool wave blanketing his senses.

He was sitting on a bench, staring into the water. He leapt up. "The water! It's absolutely filthy! God bless the Thames!" England had never been happier to be home.

* * *

America could always recall the Revolutionary War like it was yesterday. One of the worst conflicts, and it had severed his trust with his brother. The muddy ground, the rain, a terrible half-torrent half drizzle that left everybody disheartened and miserable. The air was out of focus, because he'd not yet acquired much of Texas, the vague horizon dashed into the mud. This was an old nightmare, one he'd been plagued with many times, though he'd tried to bury it in his subconscious.

Against the backdrop of mud and sky was a smear of red. England. All the hurt and betrayal and loss gathered up into his eyes until they shone darkly with tears.

There was the speech America gave, about freedom and independence, his mouth moving against his will to the inexorable ending. England charged forwards, bayonet pointing straight at him. America's general gave the order to fire. America braced himself, startled by the mad grief in the green eyes that had raised him. The inner America also braced himself, but for a different thing.

As it had been in life, the blade of England's bayonet skittered along America's musket, leaving a scar in the wood.

And here, a divergence, the nightmare rearing its ugly head.

The gun didn't fly in the air as it had in life. Instead, it jerked in his hands as if it had a mind of its own. The blade crooked sideways and in the force of the charge, England impaled himself on the bayonet, sliding up it with a bemused expression on his face. "America..." he rasped, blood gurgling in his lungs, one hand reached out to his ex-younger brother as if to smooth the rain-soggy hair out of his eyes. Blood hosed from the wound, spattering America's revolutionary uniform with an arc of scarlet.

And then England's hand dropped, and the life went out of him. The weight at the end dragged the blade out of his hands and down, and England sprawled in a crumpled heap, the mud around him turning pinkish.

"No..." gasped America. "No, I didn't mean..." He fell to his knees next to the other nation. "This isn't how it's supposed to be..." The mud and blood and rain disguised the tears that he told himself weren't there. This felt all too real, and doubt crawled into his mind.

_What if this _is _real?_

No. It can't be.

A small bird alighted on England's corpse. It was a monochrome gray, like the world felt. As he looked at it, the world shimmered around him until a familiar clamor met his ears. _Ah, NYC at its finest._

America didn't understand what had happened, but he didn't care. The smoky scent of Times Square mixed with the food from so many restaurants and the babble of voices and loud music into a welcoming potpourri. He was home, if only for the space of a dream.

* * *

Russia's dream was full of the ever-present burning. His sisters, the Baltics, the sunflowers. Tails of fire leapt from their every pore. It was a repeat. He hated it. It hurt, it was devastating, as if someone had ripped his heart out and was squeezing it. He didn't want to go further into detail, as there was too much blood in the flames now. Not like any of the revolts, rebellions scattered through his history. Those had their own sting, their own poison. He used to think nothing hurt more than those, but once again he was proven wrong.

As his world collapsed around him, he was breaking.

A plump little bird landed in front of him as he lay motionless in flames. It peeped at him and pecked his face, trying to rouse him.

Russia didn't move, floating far out in the blackness beyond the smoke. Something was near him. His nerves talked to him from a far, echoey distance. _Go away! Leave me to die in peace! _

More annoyed, the bird sprang onto his face and jumped up and down.

The blackness around him dispelled, Russia opened one eye to the bird. It was cooler now, and to his surprise and joy he was covered in snow. Pure, beautiful white snow. Not ashes, but snow. He laughed for joy, his dream spinning off into snow and sunflowers and a crystalline blue sky, with the minarets of St. Basil's Cathedral poking up in the distance.

Russia frowned, briefly perplexed. He didn't know of any endless fields of sunflowers near the cathedral. But it was too good to not believe, and he spun in circles, knocking the snow off the sunflowers, smiling.

* * *

And Italy's dreams and words and general goodwill eased the nightmares of all the nations. It wasn't magic as England would define it, but perhaps a sort of link between the nations, a connection broadcasted out when they truly needed it. The imaginary bird brought solace to the weary minds of the battered nations, if only for a short while, and maybe even healed a few mental scrapes.

They all slept peacefully.

For now.


	16. Closing Shop

**Midget short chapter! Whee~**

**Hello audience, what are you doing in front of the computer screen? Today's question: How would one go about dealing with an intensely irritating seven-year-old who's "madly in love" with you? How would you dissuade him from liking you, especially since you're at least twice his age? Advice is appreciated, I have to deal with this kid for three more weeks and he drives me bonkers. **

**Language warning: Contains Romano.**

**Onwards! Review! :D**

* * *

Spain locked his restaurant, whistling tunelessly to himself. Romano stood next to him, resplendent in his 'Shut Up' shirt. His green-gold eyes were fixed on the hexagons above, lines of light in the pitch black sky.

"Are you okay?" asked Spain, noting the anger and worry boiling in the other nation's eyes.

"Shut up," snapped Romano. "I'm fine, dammit."

Unperturbed, Spain said "Do you think that attack is gonna work? I hope so, and then this whole mess will be over."

"Hmph." Romano didn't deign to reply. The streetlight cast blue shadows across the planes of his face as he watched the Spaniard fumble through his many keys. "Couldn't you hurry up at all?" he grumbled. "My legs hurt."

"I think it'll make them think we're something to reckon with," Spain continued cheerfully. "You know, maybe scare them off or something."

"And they'll take my _fratello_ with them!" spat Romano, his voice inlaid with the vibrations of a core of hard hate. "I hate them the cocky space bastards. Why, if one were right here, I'd give him a good beating! Stupid bastards, think they could just-"

The streetlight went out, plunging them into complete and utter darkness. "Fuck," muttered Romano, his dramatic speech cut short.

Spain sighed, choosing to ignore his ward's outburst. "Another thing to fix." Finally having locked the door, he slid the keys into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Romano jumped as the green-eyed nation let out a little laugh. "Huh! You wouldn't know it, but it's actually 8:24. The sun rose a coupla hours ago." He squinted upwards. "The stupid aliens are screwing up our times." He started to input the broken streetlight on a to-do list when something moved in the ever-present shadows. Intent on his phone, Spain didn't notice.

Romano did, though, and grabbed Spain's arm, all bravado gone. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" came the reply. "Was it only a bed-wetting squirrel?" The sarcasm was evident.

"Really!" blustered Romano. "I never...they snuck in and-" He cut off again, tightening his grip painfully on Spain's arm.

"Th-there's something watching us!" Then he shook Spain hard enough to make the other drop his phone. "Dammit, tomato bastard! You're supposed to protect me! I'm scared!"

Spain took a step forwards. "Now, Romano, I'm sure there's nothing t-"

The alien erupted out of the black pool of shadows, a blur of speed and deadliness and six poison eyes gleaming. It landed in front of them, gleaming rather in the meager light from the lamp down the block and hissed, baring its mandibular fangs.

"Aieeeeeeee~" shrieked Romano in a startlingly high-pitched voice. "Run!" shouted Spain, dragging a paralyzed-with-fear Romano behind him. The alien sprang overhead, snapping the scorpion tail down towards Romano, and before the other had a chance to react the tail bit his neck. "_Fuck!_" shouted Romano, and then his eyes rolled up and he began convulsing, silver mercury running out of his mouth like blood.

A surge of rage hit the Spaniard like a blow. _How _dare _this inhuman creature hurt Romano? I'll give it a thing or two to remember..._He felt his old pirate instincts kick in, surer than any memory, and he snarled at the alien, his face made ugly with hate. The alien growled back.

There was a length of PBC piping lying in the gutter. Spain lunged for it just as the alien, in turn, leaped for him.

Spain was faster by the smallest instant. His fingers closed around the plastic pipe and he swept it up in time for it to clatter against the stinger with cracking force. A figure-eight infinity was burnt into the plastic.

"So you think you can just take me, eh?" he spat, twirling the pipe in his hands, and then swinging it wide in a blow that would've shattered bones had it connected. The alien darted back gracefully, unreadable eyes watching, always watching.

"Think again, _bastardo_." With that, the excellent distraction caused by the pipe served its purpose, and Spain leaped forwards and planted his feet into the alien's chest. The alien made a sound of surprise as it sailed back and dented the already broken streetlight.

Spain didn't give it a moment to rest; he stalked forwards, high-stepping over Romano's body, and swung it over his head and bashed down hard like he'd seen Russia do before.

To the alien's credit, it hardly flinched, long bony head nodding slowly on its longer silver neck. The eyes still watched, still analyzed, and when Spain reared up to strike again a well-placed blow sent him tumbling backwards, the pipe gone from his hand. He sat up slowly, feeling the pang in his side. Those claws are _hard_, he reasoned, and made for the pipe before he was cast sideways again, a toy in the hands of a malicious beast. His head collided with the concrete hard enough to leave cracks in it. His ears were ringing and he had a killer headache - probably would leave a pretty big bruise - but he was otherwise all right. Sometimes being a nation had its perks.

Dazed now, he struggled upright, and then clumsily rolled away as the alien stabbed down with both claws. "Damn you," he hissed, already knowing he was losing the fight. His adrenaline was draining away, taking his piratical side with it. He was tired, and he was bleeding, and he would just fall soon...

The alien sheathed its claws and picked him up, the nation dangling weakly from the enormous hands, and then threw him through the window of his shop.

Spain winced._ Not another reparation..._ As he rolled onto his back, heedless of the broken glass and overturned table, the alien loomed over him like Sweden, and then, instead of the sting the brown-haired nation fully expected, a vial was smashed at his feet. A cloud of pale powder rushed over him, curling over his ankles as he tried to crawl away. He didn't trust this fog.

Against his will, he eventually inhaled, the powder choking his lungs. Time seemed to smear and slip-slide around him, rolls of ripples being caught in the biggest hands he'd ever seen. The fight went out of his already battered body, and he slumped back to the ground.

The alien slung him over its shoulder and spoke to a black, elegant piece of tech in a sharp clickety tongue.

A beam of greenish light encased them - _Real life tractor beams! - _thought Spain sleepily, and then they began to rise up. The alien's firm grip slipped, and his head swung loose and thunked into the top of a building, right on his bruise. It hurt, and his vision spun dizzily. Spain was conscious again when the queasy up-and-down motion stopped.

Before he blacked out completely, he felt himself being thrown down. The bruise on his skull screamed in protest.

Spain thought he saw an anxious, half-familiar face floating above him, and then the world dilated shut.


	17. Wide Open

**And now for some violence you've all been waiting for! Not waiting for it? Too bad, I enjoyed writing it. [said the self-proclaimed sadist.] **

**Warning: Contains disturbing. You'll see.**

**As always, review :D**

* * *

America jerked awake, the weave of the dream coming apart at the seams. When he opened his eyes, vainly clawing up at the threads of color hovering out of reach, instead of the sights and sounds of times square, the gray, bland cell manifested itself around him.

He kind of wanted to curl up and cry, but reprimanded himself. _Don't cry,_ he scolded. _You're the hero. Heroes don't cry. _He jammed the thick wedge of emotion and wanting down into a pit inside himself, where all the things that made him uncomfortable rotted and festered and crawled up his throat to choke him.

The screen in the wall flickered on, and he turned to it slowly, glumly expecting more bad news. Instead, America was shown an image of a large fleet of all sorts of planes. They filled the sky, and he recognized the flags on several of them. Hope rose from the pit like a ghost resurrected from the dead and blocked his throat. _Maybe they'll break us out! _But the hope deflated and took him with it as the strange, noiseless weapons of the aliens blew chunks out of the massed armada of planes. Even as missiles streaked forth again and again, unerring in their accuracy, the planes fell from the sky, scattered like so many autumn leaves left to tumble.

America dropped to his knees, watching the carnage dully through empty eyes. _Not again. So much death. Not again..._

A plane in front of the camera bloomed with light, and the ships cracked and spurted thick green lasers like a lightning storm. Planes fell in the thousands. There were American pilots among the mix; he felt them die. To add to the chaos, words appeared on the screen, bleeding red symbols shifting and transmogrifying into simple, unaffected English. "You see how easily we conquer. You see that you will die here."

The words stung like blades, but the metaphysical pain lifted. _Right there...the corner of the screen._ A plane, painted black, darted nimbly past the lasers, swerving upwards. _Don't hope...don't let yourself hope, they're gonna die..._

But they couldn't. Or at least one couldn't. Die, he meant. He could've sworn that the face he'd seen through the windshield was that of Switzerland. A nation. Technically impervious to being blown up. Against his will, rising hope flooded his heart, and America attempted to suppress it, because he didn't think he could stand it if they failed.

He still felt hope when they came from him. The aliens, tall pale wraiths, strode into his cell, held their claws to his throat, and dragged him away.

The hope died a little as he was strapped to a table. Arms, legs, and several bands across his torso. One crossed his forehead, pressing him down. A bright light shone into his face, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted several wicked tools.

He uneasily tested against the bonds, tugging them, and then yanking on them with all his might, but the material held firm. Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the aliens divested him of his clothes, ripping them off and then holding them under some light until the jacket and shirt and pants wove back together. Now stark naked on the table, America was feeling extremely awkward and unsure. "Can I have my clothes back? It's hard to be heroic with no clothes..." In reply he received a smack in the face, and he winced and wisely said nothing else.

America wanted to complain again as some sort of pale liquid that reeked of disinfectant rained down from the ceiling, small drops beading on his goose-bumped skin. An alien walked past and tightened the restrains, wedging a strip of the thick material the strap was made out of between his teeth. Another leaned over his body and began making marks with what must've been the alien equivalent of a pen. One had a clipboard and was writing on it, and the one with the pen finished up and suspended a globe of swirling yellow-green into the air. Enthralled by this new tech, America watched curiously as a clear pipe was hooked up to it and then, with some dismay, realized that the other end of the pipe embedded in his arm. It stung briefly, before a feeling like pins and needles raced over him. The itchy feeling was followed by a sort of numbness, and then one alien snapped at the other and pulled it out, hanging it upwards so none of the contents of the globe fell out. Feeling slowly returned to his body.

America had no time to consider that, for the aliens finished carefully conferring and he felt the point of a blade press the skin in the curve of his collarbone. Sudden fear made him jerk in the bindings, and a small, jagged bead of blood rolled down the side of his chest. He winced. _So that's what the numbness was for._ He quickly learned, though, that the numbness hadn't completely gone from his system; he could still feel, and when his skin gave under the pressure, there was pain. Not terrible, not blinding, but pain all the same.

The knife was dragged downwards, and the pain increased in a gradual crescendo until it was screaming by the time it reached the spot just below his belly button. Blood splashed out, heat warm on his sides, and he clamped his teeth down on the cloth.

Some of the aforementioned blood was caught in several vials and just as many aliens as vials broke off from the main group to study it. Then, in a process that seemed to go on forever, each individual blood vessel was treated with some chemical, a brush from a dropper all it took to do...something. America didn't know. His mind was recoiling from this ruthless invasion of his personal space.

_This is like a movie, _thought America dizzily. _The human is being studied by the aliens to determine their weaknesses. At this point the hero would jump in and save the day._

_But_ I'm _the hero, _he thought with a sinking feeling. _Who's gonna save _me_?_

America felt a tool slide through the slit in his skin, cleanly severing the muscles and the traceries of the veins from the upper layer. Another long slit was made horizontally - America felt tears come to his eyes - and his skin was peeled back like that of an orange.

He let himself drift into sort of a daze, interrupted by the jolts of pain whenever the scalpel was used again. If he looked down, he could see the purplish blood vessels and the clips holding the intact ones far above his body, and the layers of muscle and fat braced on a skeleton frame above him, and a few webs of gore clung to the capillaries.

Absently, he noted when the tube was stuck back in his arm, and the oh-so-anticipated relief came, drawing off some, but not all, of the terrible, debilitating pain. His mind snapped into a sharper focus as the horrors continued to unfold.

The cold blade rummaged around inside him for a moment - America couldn't look down to see what they were doing in him - and then, surprisingly delicately, the alien reached in with bloodied hands and lifted out a pinkish-gray bag, connected by several strings of human pieces and other organs to the rest of him, and it was his _stomach, __his very own stomach_ being held above him with the loose coils of intestines dropping back into his torso.

It dripped pinkish red, and America, in shock, could only stare at the organ as something was unwound inside him, and his stomach was set gently in cold hooks, the intestines have being unraveled a bit so nothing would tear. The shock slowly changed to horror and bile rose in his throat, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from it. _I'm going to throw up..._ he thought dizzily, and then felt another strong wave of panic as he watched the muscles in his stomach ripple and convulse, the tan, pulpy strand of his esophagus flexing, and the blood vessels around the area swelling as more of this ever-present blood was pumped to the area to help.

That was enough for America. Unable to take the shock of seeing his organs outside his body, and unable to stand the still-growing pain, he let himself pass out. It was dark and peaceful behind his limp eyelids, and he wish he could've stayed that way for longer, but it couldn't last. A dull pain like a hammer blow throbbed in his ribs, and the nightmare that was eating the peace would wake him up anyway.

Light reasserted itself slowly and painfully. America blinked groggily, and then to his horror realized only one eye was blinking. He lifted a hand up to feel it, and felt the restraints digging into his wrist, as well as another surge of pain. Come to think of it, he was sore all over. Not sore, really, more of the feeling that his bones had been replaced with spiked constructs tipped with acid.

America strained with all his might, moving his head a few fractions of an inch forwards, trying to see what they were doing to him. The effort was futile, and he slumped back down. Only then did he realize there was a screen suspended on the ceiling above him, and the grotesquely mutilated form within it made him open his mouth to scream. The form on the ceiling did as well, a distorted mockery of his panic.

And then the realization hit him; it was not a screen, but a mirror.

His entire body had been sliced open, clear tubes connecting the network of blood vessels, suspended from an even higher framework, and the same tubes connected the organs, which were arrayed around him, some suspended in a compound that apparently preserved them and kept them from drying out. There was his ribcage, a clean split down the center of his collarbone, and his lungs unfolded from the surrounding bones, inflating and deflating at a rapid pace...and there was also his heart. The size of his fist, a slick, pulpy mass of dark-colored muscle. Beating at an incredible pace that only sped up as he stared at it.

His gaze was inexorably drawn upwards, past the fold of skin that revealed his windpipe, past the metal tech that adorned his throat to keep him from choking on his own blood, up to his face, and his eyes.

His eyes, or should he say eye. Half his facial skin had been delicately removed, and the cold air stung on the exposed muscle. His right eye looked so big, an island of white and blue in the sea of reddish-pink. His nose was still covered in skin, and he found that his teeth were visible through a carefully inserted window of sorts embedded in his cheek. There was something draped on a skull-shaped frame to his right, and he was afraid to look. Curiosity won out, though, and he strained to glance at it.

America looked away just as quickly, for he never wanted to see half his face without _himself_ behind it ever again. A sad, empty, sagging mask, pulling his features out of shape. Around his left eye socket, the skin side, there were several slits and then the optic nerve drifting like a ghost above his face, cumulating in his eye. The eye spun wildly in the bubble of liquid, and it eventually turned to look at him. America shuddered and averted his one remaining eye; he felt as if the other were still staring at him, looking into the back of his skull.

Or, America realized, _through _his skull, as the back of it had been removed, and there, there was his brain, like a great ominous cloud hovering slowly near him, brain stem connected to the maze of tubes that miraculously kept him from dying. There were the small electric pinpricks of his neurons, and was he seeing himself _think..._?

He couldn't bear staring into the mirror anymore, and instead focused his wild gaze on the aliens observing his brain. Their faces were impassive, and he couldn't read them, couldn't tell what they were thinking as they prodded the delicate organ with their tools and took careful notes, as he assumed they'd done for the rest of his body.

America wanted to scream, or yell, or thrash in the restraints until the clear tubes came loose and spilled their contents over his slowly emptying corpse. He'd rather die than have to go through this any longer. Get it into the alien's heads that this was a bad idea, so they wouldn't do it to his friends [and enemies] and he'd be the hero one last time. But he did none of those, for overwhelming his desire for death was his desire to live.

So he closed his eyes - eye - and endured, right up until the moment that the orb leaching the pain away from him turned a darker and darker shade of gray, until it was black, and the black mixed with red, and then throbbed like his heart, and then burst.

The pain was like noting he'd ever experienced before. Forget the scalpel sliding down the inside of his torso; that was a paper cut. Disregard the painful shriek of his bones; perhaps a finger, pinched in a zipper. Not even the death of his people in the World Wars could even hold a candle to this, the raw edges of skin, the barely attached muscles, the tendons and ligaments, his organs and his bones, howling in a hellish choir in his ears and up to his mind. Each and every cell in him had its own complaint, and there were a thousand needles piercing out of his swollen bones, emerging like daggers from his flesh in a spray of blood and -

America almost could see the nerves crackling as a fresh wave of pain ricocheted from his mind to his toes and back again, growing larger every time until a veritable tidal wave of agony raced up the length of his body faster than it took to blink, threatening to wash him away.

And it hit, an explosion; scattering the non-existent daggers through the air, where they landed point-first back in him again as he arched his back involuntarily, and he couldn't hold it in anymore and he screamed, the end of the stiff cloth gritting against the skinless half of his face as it fell. It was a scream born, obviously, of agony, and terror, and contained every ounce of his suffering. He screamed until his sliced-open throat was ravaged and red, and the silver plate allowing him to breathe was joggled out of place. It flopped down the side of his neck, leaving a moist trail, and blood slid up into his suspended lungs. He gagged, coughed, and gagged again, the scream drowned in his blood, and he couldn't breathe...

America drew into himself, taking everything that made him who he was inside him until there was a little ball of pure America inside of him. His mother had taught him how to do it, though she'd never said why. The memory of her face made him squeeze all the tighter, a fragile, temporary barrier towards the pain. _This is who I am! This is me, and always will be... _

And as the pain wormed its way through his defenses, he let go.

Behind his eyes was a light. Well, not really a light, but more of a pale, ethereal glow, a soothing blue. He was entranced by it, and it reached for him, projecting the most profound sense of peace that it was unbelievable. To the tired nation, the entire thing was simply impossible. The light cradled his soul, and he let himself go with it, just for a moment, before remembering the stern countenance of a German._ "Do we all solemnly swear to try anything to escape?"_

And his own reply: _"Of course I can, I'm the hero!"_

_NO, _he said to the warm light, and the surface underneath him melted as the light suddenly couldn't touch his soul anymore, and he slipped, plummeting seemingly forever into a cold gray sea, sinking under the water before bobbing back up like a cork. Half in the cool water, and half in the warm light.

America closed his eyes and floated between life and death.

_I can't go on. The hero is done. It's your turn now. _


	18. Worms of Insanity

**I don't think I've actually said the disclaimer yet. I DON'T OWN HETALIA, AND IF I DID IT WOULDN'T BE AS GOOD. Danke. **

**More pain inflicted in this chapter.** **You have been warned. However I don't like this chapter as much as I liked the other one.**

**And thank you to all my fabulous reviewers, I wuv you all so much I could eat you. ^w^ **

**Apologies for any possible lateness and any grammar/spelling errors, my laptop has been removed again and I typed the second half of this on a tablet. It literally took me five minutes to type this sentence. -_-" Plus it takes just as long to get the cursor to appear. UGH I'M IRRITATED BY THIS TABLET FAILURE**

**SK is the abbreviation of South Korea. In case you couldn't tell. **

**Review some more! :D**

* * *

Russia was strapped to a metal frame over a white chemical flame. The metal was scorching, and was wrapped around his limbs, or his limbs wrapped around it. It was hard to tell, because the air was full of an opaque, stinging vapor, and he could barely see. His nose brushed the fire, and once again he tensed his muscles, holding himself above it. His arms and legs screamed. From the position they were in, the strain of holding himself upright was breaking them.

The edges of his jacket and scarf were already singed and burning, the flame quickly eating up the cloth before going out again. Embers danced in the fabkkkjgrtgtric. Earlier they had stung. Now they were nothing, for a few times his muscles had already collapsed and he'd fallen in the fire. It'd burned like no earthly fire, like a demon had surfaced from hell and lashed him with its fiery, stereotypical whip. And the surface the flames were burning on was far from smooth. The scrapes across his torso were proof of that.

To make matters worse, one of the numerous pipes snaking overhead had sprung a leak, and a caustic, oily substance was splashing down across his back and into the fire, making it leap and dance. It stole his breath away, burning up the oxygen, and he hacked and gagged into the fire.

Russia forced his shaking limbs to stay rigid as his body started to sag for the umpteenth time. He would not allow himself to be burnt again. His wrists throbbed, and his hands -bloodied from when he'd beat them against the wall in the throes of the first nightmare- tingled from a potent combination of exhaustion and pain. Against his will, his sweat-stained fingers started to slip, and he barely managed to readjust his grip. Most of all, the sting on his back was the worst. It had reopened, and he could feel wetness dampening the area between his shoulder blades. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and rolled languorously down his face.

His muscles wavered again. He'd been suspended for heaven knows how long. He'd lost track of time, trapped in a hell of exhaustion. His bones groaned.

_I can't do this much longer,_ Russia thought. _I'm going to-_

His exhausted limbs collapsed, dumping him unceremoniously into the fire, trembling with freedom from the stress. The fire, though he'd braced for it, was still unexpected, and he gasped. For a moment, his mind reverted back to the nightmare, and the arms of panic unfolded to envelop him. He couldn't push himself back up, either. He was too weak, too tired, too exhausted. There had never been a time when he'd never been strong enough...

Russia thrashed in his metallic bonds, sending bruises to blossom up his arms, bleeding now, and feeling the front of his jacket burst into flame. Soon the fire would consume more than just his jacket - his cold skin appeared to be repelling it, for now- and he'd go up like tinder in a bonfire.

Again, he struggled to lever himself up, and this time managed it. The fire snapped at the fringes of his scarf, and mercifully, his jacket went out. The sting twanged, sending a shockwave through him.

Russia wouldn't cry. He wouldn't give the aliens the satisfaction of it. He fell into the fire again, and his skin started to blister. The old medallion he'd kept pinned to his jacket glowed red-hot like a brand.

"No," he growled through gritted teeth, and put all his frustration, his anger into lifting himself back out again. Time rippled and slid around him, so seconds felt like hours, and minutes felt like years. All there was, and all there ever would be, was the stress of his bones slowly arching the wrong way, and the deadly fire at his feet, and the acid dripping like a metronome from the ceiling.

The moment came again, where he couldn't hold himself up any longer. This time, though, it was not his muscles that failed him, but his bones. There was a snap and a sudden clearpain and the ghostly white flames welcomed him back. Russia's limbs wouldn't respond to his commands anymore, numb pieces of flesh hanging loose at his side. Within seconds his skin was on fire. Like his nightmare, but real. Before he could even open his mouth to permit himself a scream, fire rushed in, dancing in his lungs, swallowing all the oxygen and leaving with a whoosh. Screaming hurt, and the least he could make was a weird croaking noise.

And all the while, while his vision darkened and his nose filled with the scent of cooking meat, the acid dripped slowly down, right onto his sting. _Plip. Plop. Plink. _

* * *

England was glaring into space when it was his turn for the aliens to use him. There was the _whisk_ sound of skin on temporarily insubstantial bars, and then their sheathed claws reached for him, wrapped around him, and dragged him out in the space of a blink. He twisted in their many-fingered grip and tried to scream out, maybe catch the attention of one of the other nations, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a metal plate was inserted that melded to his teeth and held them shut, stretching slightly like old taffy when he tried to open his mouth again. Afraid of pulling a tooth out, he ceased with that train of motion.

He kept wriggling around like a greased eel, but there were enough aliens to restrain him, and one eventually threw its tail around him and left the stinger a millimeter from his left eye. England froze. When he blinked, the very tip of it scraped against his eyelid, and a bead of blood welled up on it. The whole kidnapping was played out in horrible silence.

Without further incident, England was transported to a room and thrown on a platform. He tried to roll off it, but an alien at a sort of control desk flipped a switch and restraints sprang over his body. Powerless, he watched the six-fingered hand fill a syringe full of an opaque white substance.

_No bloody way. You wankers are not going to just shoot me full of some random chemicals. _He pulled futilely at the restraints, feeling his skin already start chafing. _Just like my nightmare._

The alien approached with the syringe, and England began thrashing wildly. With much effort on the part of the aliens, two gripped his arm with bruising force, and the third pricked his arm with the syringe. The liquid was thick and cold. He felt it slithering through his system like a plague of snakes.

He felt tired, as if he had a hangover. The alien faces above him swam, their clickety voices petering down to his ears through a marsh of air. Time passed, and then he was alert again. It was weird - no left-over tingling feeling, no remaining slowness. It was as if he'd just woken up perfectly refreshed from a good nap. If only.

"We've let you understand our language for now," said a groaning, raspy voice. "You will answer our questions."

To his utter horror, England found that he couldn't speak. There was a block in his throat that wouldn't let his words out, even though the metal-ish plate holding his teeth together was gone.

The alien asked the first question. "We know you are not quite humanoid. We've done something to a few of you that a normal human could not have survived for long. What are you?"

England clamped his lips down over the desire to answer it, a desire that he did not allow. It wasn't his. Was it the thing they'd injected? And, worse, what had they done to his companions? "You'll-never-know." His voice was like sandpaper on the inside of his throat, but he was proud of himself for defying it.

"Tch." The alien clicked its tongue, and one approached with a small, spiky green thing. "Do you know what this is?"

England correctly perceived that the question was rhetorical. The alien went on. "It is a worm species we have taken from another planet. It is much like yours, except this one contains different species of humanoids, and large, sentient lizards. But this-" it held up the 'worm species' - "is from an island that used to be abandoned. It is infested with the sentient lizards now, and they attempt to burn us as we come, so we have kept only a scant few and bred them to perfection."

The alien squished the spiky thing slightly between its fingers. As England watched, it shifted, roiling under the carapace of spikes, and then a mouth that was a circular gash filled with teeth emerged. Hard pieces formed under the skin, and then burst through it, four angular prongs like drill bits made for crushing. Still oozing transparent fluid, the mandibles turned to him and whirred loudly, hunger staining the edge of the sound.

_Hunger-hunger-hunger-must-eat-flesh-must-must-must -go-forth-and-eat-devour-eat-EAT-_

The voice echoed inside his head, a grinding of teeth on bone, a rending noise that threatened to spill his mind into madness. He cringed and tried to block it out. It didn't work, and the voice and the chanted litany went on until the alien placed the green thing into a jar, quickly slamming the lid on. The worm impacted the lid a moment later, an impressive leap for something without limbs. England shuddered to think of what they planned to do with it.

"Answer us. What are you?"

When England stubbornly remained silent, the spiky worm was removed again and set against his skin. "You have three seconds. One...two..." He felt the worm undulate against his arm until its jaws pricked his flesh and felt a very large pang of foreboding. _Can-taste-it-smell-it-flesh-blood-eat-destroy- _"Three."

The alien jammed its hand down on the worm, which needed no prompting to burrow straight into his arm, mandibles spinning. The rasping, fangs-over-bone sound of its voice filled his entire body. His muscles were singing with it, to say nothing of the pain. It drilled straight down, and then angled sharply to crawl up his arm. He could see it bulging under his skin, and he forced himself to avert his eyes. There was a cleaner pain suddenly, and he opened one eye to see the alien dropping the bloody worm into a jar, where the mandibles whirred futilely against the transparent substance, leaving thin red streaks. He slumped in relief.

"Again. What are you?"

The fear of the worm being set to his skin again overwhelmed any rational thought, and he blurted out the answer.

The aliens smiled fearsomely, the V shape of their mouth turning upside-down into a smile. Their new toy had become more obedient, and it didn't even take that long to break.

The questions flowed like water, and the answer flowed a lot less well, like cement, or perhaps a strawberry smoothie. Sometimes, England needed prompting from the worm. Once or twice it reentered his body, doing all sorts of untold damage before he relented and vomited up all the necessary information, sometimes with the actual contents of his near-empty stomach going with it.

At the end of the session -the drug was wearing off, their voices twisted even more and were fading- he lifted his head as much as he could and croaked, "Why are you doing this? Why us?"

The largest alien paused. "For fun, of course. For kicks, as you say." The voice was so garbled that he could barely make out the words.

They left the room but for one, who smirked at him and emptied the worm onto his collarbone before departing. England cringed.

He could feel it under his skin, chewing through muscle, bone, and who knows what else. He'd never really made a detailed study of anatomy. He didn't know what was inside him. Maybe it was different from a normal human. It's not as if any of them had volunteered to be vivisected...

_That's right, keep distracting yourself. If you concentrate on the pain too much..._

So England thought painfully about the very organs that were perhaps being destroyed, hearing the grating voice in his mind as it twisted and turned and mashed at his innards. Finally, the creature leaped out of the skin near his ankle. He'd felt it going, a large, malevolent bulge slithering down the inside of his leg. An alien he hadn't noticed caught the creature again in the jar, where it raged futilely, smearing blood -_his_ blood- against the glass.

England closed his eyes, feeling like a cartoon character. There was always a cartoon in which a character got shot full of holes, and then went to drink some water and water splashed out of the holes to the ground. He felt like that, as if he'd been sliced to pieces.

It hurt like hell. Hurt wasn't much of a word to cover it. The pain he was feeling went beyond hurt, and England found himself wishing the worm had chewed out his nerves as well. He probably would've ended up sobbing, but he hadn't drunk any of the sludge that passed as water and what with all the blood oozing into the passages the malicious beast had made - he was probably saturated with it - of course he was dehydrated enough to have no tears in their ducts.

The pain did not abate. It was like a sea, an ocean, a whole bloody world of pain, but he wouldn't go under. No way in hell.

_Unless you're already in hell..._

England mustered his courage and glared at the aliens. More had come in while he was writhing in pain. He twisted his cramping neck and looked out the window in the door. No matter what the aliens thought, they had not broken him. They'd merely tortured him. He laughed at his own peculiar logic.

He was stronger than this, this wanting to break down in tears. He could, no would, no _will_ escape, and take the others with him. He smiled triumphantly, and then let the smile drop as there was a sudden pain in his face from one of the tunnels.

His green eyes skimmed the aliens again. They were procuring a new worm to gorge itself on him.

So he let himself float away. It was a skill he'd perfected and had to master over the years. He could throw his soul? spirit? aiua? out into the air, and leave his body behind. He didn't really know what sort of process allowed him to do it. He suspected it was magic, though Norway and Romania had never mentioned anything like this.

_Maybe I'm just insane..._

With that pleasant thought in mind, England's consciousness drifted through the empty silver maze of hallways that was the aliens hip. He walked the halls, sank through the floors, watching the aliens work and prepare weapons and tech the likes he'd never seen before. Eventually, he found his way into a nager of sorts, full of strange ships and more, miniaturized hexagons.

There in a corner was a very decrepit looking plane.

From _Earth._

England's consciousness traversed the distance in seconds, pressed up against the window. There were six seats on the plane, and only one was occupied. There was Greece, wearing an 'I Heart Cats' shirt. _How typical, _England thought with a smile that was more a quirk of the mouth than anything. The Greek was supposed to be on watch, but was instead sleeping.

_Who else?_ England's consciousness rampaged about the ship in excitement. Maybe they'd be rescued. Maybe they could go home. England thought longingly of his old Victorian home equidistant from Buckingham Palace and the Thames. He saw several empty rooms and finally stumbled across one not occupied by aliens. He counted them off.

Prussia, Switzerland, Belarus, and surprisingly, SK. _An unlikely rescue party if I ever saw one, _hethought dismissively. But then again, any rescue would be welcome. Any rescue would be infinitely better than none.

Then Canada came in, looking timid. 'Who?' asked a small voice, and his bear followed him.

They were talking, but England couldn't spare enough of his magic to hear them. Normally it required a bit of effort to eavesdrop, and all his strength was being used just keeping himself out of himself. He offered a small smirk at the weird expression, and then swore.

_Maybe they're not here at all. Maybe I've just gone loony._

Cracked in the attic, as he once heard Scotland say.

_Definitely crazy. Insane. Twisted. Fou bâtard. _He'd been called all of those and more upon trying to explain his UN-imaginary friends to others. He glanced around. He hadn't seen hide or hair of his magic friends since he'd arrived. _Maybe they're not real after all..._

_I'm just a crazy man, hallucinating, pretending to be a nation, and none of it is real._ The words hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was the truth or not.

_None of it._

* * *

**On a random end note, I finished reading some books by one of the authors it says not to take ideas from in the guidelines for stories. The first one is '_Wizard's First Rule_' by Terry Goodkind. Good read. I sort of wish I was allowed to steal an idea from him -the Mord-Sith- because I like those characters a lot, especially Denna, even though Richard kills her eventually. However I shall respect the good author's wishes and not take his idea. Or any of his ideas. Or any of the ideas in general. **

**Random end note #2: You may have noticed I stole the evil worms from the Inheritance Cycle. Credit for evil worm torture goes to Chris Paolini, even though I modified it a teeny bit. I wasn't able to easily explain the mouth of the worm, so just look up 'world boss Ragnoch' for the mouth shape if you care that much. **

**Another: Putting "strawberry smoothie" at that one part wasn't meant to be overly humorous, it's just that's all I could think of that moved slowly at the moment [as I was drinking a strawberry smoothie...]. I don't actually think you all care that much either about my reason for writing strawberry smoothie, but now you know. You have been enlightened. Go tell your friends. Spread the word! Save a polar bear! XD Okay that's enough.**

**On the final random end note, one of my mom's sisters came to visit with her husband, and said I had really beautiful, model-esque eyebrows. My mom mentioned that too. *rubs eyebrows* They seem like normal eyebrows to me... *rubs eyebrows again***

**Translation: fou bâtard- crazy bastard. French. Guess who said that. **

**Yay, random update on my life of no real purpose whatsoever! :D Now, by putting the review reminder here, I hope you all shall review even more! :3**

**Well frabjous snarkles, this end bit is _long_.**


	19. The Majesty of Colors

**I went zip-lining with several people from my camp, and it wasn't as terrible as I thought it'd be XD No, I jest, it was wonderful. Me and my friend N [not gonna use full names here] watched "Cabin in the Woods" and decided that all horror movies have stupid endings. **

**On another note, I decided to re-re-re-read one of my favorite series, Rick Yancey's '_The Monstrumologist.' _It's three excellent books [the last one coming soon I hope] of good ol' terrifying monsters and themes of what defines humans and separate them from the very thing they hunt...and I attempt to model my writing style after that, but it doesn't quite come off that way. Horror-themed books are always invigorating. **

**Yet another note: My internet is frazzled so I've only got computer time on other laptops. So even more delay between updates, I guess... :( This chapter is short compared to the other ones.**

**Last note: The Majesty of Colors is the name of a game. I take no credit for it.**

**No, I'm not shipping FrUk. Just because France had a non-negative thought towards Iggy doesn't mean they're in love.**

**At this moment, exactly 42 reviews. MY STORY CONTAINS THE MEANING OF LIFE, THE UNIVERSE, AND EVERYTHING :D Well no not really, that'd be some scary version of messed up life...**

**Review! :D**

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France was in sort of a half-doze when the aliens came for him again. He cracked open one eye. "Mon Dieu, haven't we suffered enough already?" His voice was thick with sarcasm.

Life was actually getting monotonous. He was bored. Not the okay-kind of boredom that occurred when he knew he was safe, but a boredom crafted of fear and reluctant expectation.

To be translated, living in a constant state of fear was dull, and harrowing, and it was already wearing on his psyche. He couldn't remove the feeling of being hunted, of being prepared for something, of preparing himself for something that would be far worse than what had happened already. What that would be, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. But his imagination could speculate, and the nightmares could tear his imaginings into shreds stretched over a canvas painted red.

He noted that his imagination could also make this fear seem poetic by using interesting language. Imagination was a wonderful thing, make him be somewhere else, or he could feel the other edge of the blade and scream in hell. His mind was a double-edged sword, plunging ever deeper into the quagmire contained within his skull. Nothing was to be trusted; everything was doubt.

The nightmares; never as vivid as the first time, no, nothing could match that, but the subsequent remnants that hazed through his mind like temporal ghosts terrorized him, a wild race back in time to throw the memories into disarray. And there was pain to match, and a bleeding of the spirit, throwing itself at this cage of metal until it tired and slumped down defeated.

He was sure the others felt the same. Take Russia, for example, who was already half-crazy from his history. And Italy, his little brother, who was just too childish to stay happy.

Everyone had their secret weakness. France thanked all the gods he could think of that they hadn't found his yet.

He struggled as the aliens pulled him out, twisting and writhing in their grasp. Finally, one of them coiled something like an electric rope around his throat, grazing his adam's apple, and tucked in tight. He couldn't breathe without inhaling little electric sparks. They scorched his esophagus.

The aliens dragged him by the shoulders, hands clamped down tight, acutely aware of the threat of the hellish claws bursting through the skin of his shoulders and tearing straight through his joints, ligaments, a solid, round hole bored through his arms, rendering them useless.

France never realized how much he valued his arms until just one stray twitch could send them flying free from his body.

He passed several rooms, with porthole-like windows set far back in the thick doors. Was that Russia, lying in the flame as if he were a slab of meat? So shocked he was by that, he almost missed the sight of America's flayed-open body, the blood surging and pulsing in crimson waves. Bile rose into his throat, and as he tensed to retch, he felt the very tips of the claws pierce the skin on his shoulder. He returned to rigidity and, out of his peripheral vision, saw his old English enemy, unconscious, with a bulge swimming under his flesh.

However, the aliens got him to a different room with no more incident. The end of the electric rope was hooked to a metal pole in the center of the room, and then with a brutal shove he was tossed to the other side of the room. The collar, of sorts, yanked him back at the last second with such force that the light shot straight to his brain and darkness bloomed behind his eyes momentarily.

France opened his eyes a moment later, feeling a dull ache in a ring around his throat. He glared at a glassy smooth patch on the wall that he assumed was a sort of two-way mirror. "Chain me up like a filthy dog, eh?" he murmured. "Have fun with that."

As if in reply to his words, a drop of pinkish water ran from the side of the room and landed on the ground. Out of nothing more than curiosity, he bent towards it, catching just a drop on his finger.

It burned as if it were acid, and he hissed and shook it off.

Unknown to the Frenchman, there was a room with the barest flickers of white fire and a warped metal frame, and there was blood-swirled acid pooling on the floor. The fires had been extinguished, the acid collected, the frame melted down to re-use elsewhere, for resources were scarce. The pure, raw, energy of the fire could not be harvested, but rather than produce a fresh batch of acid, they could simply reuse it.

Another drop of pink liquid fell on France. He shook it out of his hair, wincing as the electricity brushed his neck, and then making a sort of strangled snarl, like a duck choking on peanut butter. _I _have_ to get out of here._

Another drop.

"Stop it already!" He shook his fist at the mirror in impotent rage.

France wondered, in the back of his mind, if he could just lose all abandon and bring himself to flirt with the aliens. With that thought, he burst into raucous, helpless laughter, the kind where tears of mirth gather in your eyes, except he wasn't sure if these tears were of mirth or not.

As if displeased by his laughter, a few other drops fell. A runnel began steadily flowing down the corner. The sound was anything but soothing. He couldn't imagine being immersed in the acidic water.

_Tumbling head over heels in inky red froth while his city lay destroyed behind him..._

Non, no need to go there. _You're perfectly fine..._

In an act conceived of desperation, he turned to the window and purred, "Any of you lady aliens lonely?"

In answer, the runnel of water in the corner turned to a wild gush of acid. He was somehow already up to his ankles in it, and he hopped from foot to foot before standing on his tiptoes. _You'd better be grateful that I'm standing up for you, Angleterre. Because that's what friends do. _

Because they were friends, in the worst sort of way.

The acid was already up to his ribs, and it felt as if his skin were peeling off, sloughing to the ground as the acid picked and pried at his muscles. Surely they must be eaten away by now...

Yet he used those self-same muscles to force the choking scream down his throat, and to haul himself above the rising level of acid, no matter the shocks that sent his heartbeat into irregular swoops, and he closed his eyes tight against the image of a tide of blood overcoming his city, without a little bird to stop it.

The acid crawled up to his neck in a slow dance, sticking needles into his blistering skin as if the pain were a grappling hook to draw the level still further. Higher, higher, the clear liquid seeking to permeate his mouth and slide dryly down his throat, to float up his nose and cause him to gasp with the pain, to draw in itself.

The acid tasted of blood. Not his, as he'd first assumed, but other blood. Not his. The horror of drinking blood, blood that did not belong to him, as well as accidentally pulling in a lungful of the transparent solution to do untold damage to his insides, and the scalding heat coursing down his throat caused him to scream. His mouth opened wide under the surface, skin pulling tight, gums being stung and releasing their own billowing clouds to violate the blushing pink tinge of the corrosive fluid.

Pink the color of the sunrise's halo falling through the ranges until the delicate ribbons of blood around him turned a color commonly defined as "French Rose", irony at its greatest. In the part of his mind not crippled with pain, he wondered why it was not a darker, redder shade, and then he was forced to slam his eyelids shut, clap his hands over them in the vainest effort, the war against his fingers; _do not let the acid into my eyes_.

France knew his eyes were blue. He'd seen them in mirrors, or reflected in the irises of others. It was funny; such a gorgeous shade, Majorelle blue, a color after sunset before the light fades. He'd adopted the color after his own artist, Jacques Majorelle and his blue garden. The bright, bright blue, almost painful to look at for too long in such an expanse. The Moroccans had already had this color, smidges and smears around their windows, but Majorelle had taken it and made it wonderful, transcendent.

There were many different shades of blue. America had, at one point, sat down and looked on Wikipedia at all the different shades of blue. There were sixty-three 'main shades'. The American had likened the color of his 'heroic' eyes to cornflower blue, and teased the Frenchman with 'Cambridge Blue' or 'Bleu de France', which was a ridiculous name.

But Majorelle blue...

_Bleu_, _rouge_, _blanc_, the colors on his flag and their selective blends, all the colors he would lose if the acid won this fight. The liquid clawed at his hands, and unseen to him, the pinkish color rusted and gathered around him, a loose shroud in the erosive elixir. _Elixir of death,_ he thought, with melancholy.

The war boiled on, and a new enemy was added to the mix; the fluid had long since risen above his hair, and his rust-tasting breath was erupting in his lungs. He couldn't float suspended forever...he couldn't hold his hands to his face forever...

When the shock came, France cursed himself for forgetting. Obviously the electricity of his collar would travel quickly through this not-water, this elixir of death, and being tethered at the top of the pole, he was a sitting duck in standing water for this.

The electricity wound around his bones, caressed his body with salient bolts, wrapped her arms around him as he juddered in her grip, a living thing in the way she snaked through him, breathing the sound of static into his ear. His skin burnt around his neck where her arms lay, and his eyes flipped open and shut, open and shut as the acid frothed and churned with the presence of this dangerous, beautiful, lover.

She left him with a kiss, a scorching brand to his temple, and then the acid drained out, the mistress gone from her home, leaving the unwilling volunteer behind on the metal floor.

* * *

**Jacques Majorelle painted an entire garden in Morocco a shade of blue. Guess what he named the blue.**

**And I couldn't help anthropomorphizing the electricity; it was just too much of a chance to pass up. _NO_, I am not implying that the "female" electricity did anything overly...uh...explicit. *wince* Ah my brain. **

**Oh, I had to google how to spell anthropomorphizing. Just FYI. **


	20. Hourglass

**I feel like telling you that** **this entire story has been hand-written almost start to finish in three different notebooks. The one that this part of the story is in has about 100 pages of this. This is the last chapter in this notebook, and then there's the other one with 200 pages and the one with 192 pages that has even more pages written in at the moment. Yeah, I've been planning this story for a really long time...But this is the last chapter of the first notebook! So it's a dramatic moment. To me, anyway. Thanks, reviewers, you have no idea how much I appreciate you. The next chapter should be out on approximately whenever-I-can-fight-off-the-evil-procrastination- and-laziness-twins-day.**

**Remember, SK is short for South Korea, and in my made-up world, I gave China Canada's spot on the G8 because I messed up in the beginning and can't edit the docs anymore. **

**As always, review! :D**

* * *

Switzerland was doing his best to act as if he were dead inside. As if his heart had been frozen into a great lump of ice.

As he had been since his sister was taken. He'd left her alone for _one minute._ One tiny little minute, sixty seconds like grains of sand in an hourglass.

For the umpteenth time, he imagined the scene that must have transpired behind the door.

* * *

_'I'll be right back out, brother! I made a card for your birthday~" Her smiling face, peeping out from behind the half-closed door. His grudging acceptance. _

_The door is closed. The scene is set, the hourglass just before gravity exerts its pull on the sand. Lili has just closed the door. He's walking down the hall, half looking over his shoulder. __The doorbell is ringing. When he'd opened it, he'd seen nothing but the retreating back of Prussia and the large wad of tape holding down the doorbell, apparently out for adrenaline to distract himself from his missing friends. He'd fired a few shots at him before peeling the tape off and slamming the door shut at thirty seconds. _

_But behind the door..._

_In her room, the pink curtains hang still. She reaches into her dresser, smiling at how she imagines his face would be when she gives him the card. Certainly, it would make some of the worry lines disappear, at least for the moment. A sixth of the sand has fallen in a steady beige stream, and more comes. _

_There's a sound outside. She walks to the window and pushes the fluttering curtains aside, poking her head all the way out. Outside, the air is cool. The landscaped trees she can see stand straight and tall in the moonlight, and it is silent, but for the vanishing shadow of Prussia in the distance. Half of the sand has piled up._

_She pulls her head back in, dismissing the sound, and comes face to face with the tall, pallid visage of an alien. It muffles her screams, but she struggles anyway, landing a few good blows. The two of them blunder into her bedside table, and it falls onto the bedcovers and splinters from the sheer strength of the alien. The mattress frame bows down under the combined weight of the table, Lili, and the alien trying to kidnap her. Thrashing limbs in the silent fight overturn her desk, scattering drawings and pens everywhere. Her room is trashed in one third of the hourglass. _

_She reaches for one of the guns he'd made her put in her room and tries to fire it, but quick as a wink it bashes the barrel sideways, rendering the weapon useless. It knocks her unconscious somehow -blunt force trauma? Some sort of knockout drug?- and drags her out the window, leaving smears on the curtains, just as he opens the door. The last few grains fall from the glass._

* * *

Switzerland closed his eyes against the memory before opening them again. That's how the room was found, how he found it; furniture ruined, paper and broken pens plastering every surface, gun bent almost double. Broken ornamental hourglass shattered by the door.

He dug his nails into his palms for the umpteenth time.

_I am the worst older brother in the world._

They'd successfully made it up into the alien ship, dodging a hail of fiery rain and silent green lights that stole chunks out of the things before them. But at a price; just as they reached what seemed to be an airlock, a laser bored straight through that one vital point, sending the engine into gouts of flame. They'd just managed to land before the fire reached the gas, and managed to douse it. The plane was useless now, though the aliens might see otherwise and modify it to their own sinister purposes. They'd left behind Greece to guard it, though the Grecian was probably sleeping by now.

In the sparsely furnished room they were in now, they thought of a plan. Nobody had really believed that they would get this far, and now he was wishing he'd brought a phone or a walkie-talkie with him. They needed advice from Earth. But nobody had thought to, so they were on their own, for now.

He looked around the room to distract himself. There was Belarus, crouched in the corner, looking ready to spring at the next alien through the door. She'd already disposed of several. Black blood slicked her dress in patches. She was good. When they cleared this room to hide in, she'd taken all the aliens down before he'd even fired a shot.

She also scared the living hell out of him, what with that insane look in her eyes, and the profusion of knives that she always had with her, not to mention the black blood collecting under her nails, which really should be called claws.

Then there were the two obnoxious people who'd come with them, Prussia and SK. SK seemed to think he was a ninja or something, darting around corners and spouting cheesy lines. And if he had to hear another word about "The awesome sound of the awesome Prussia's voice!" he was going to shoot him and that damn bird. He still hadn't forgiven him for taping his doorbell.

_If it wasn't for you, I'd've been close enough to Lili to save her. _Hot resentment boiled in his frozen heart.

But neither of the two of them seemed worried. Switzerland envied them and their obliviousness. What he wouldn't give not to have this great burden of worry pressing down on his shoulders.

And then, whatshisface, the one who was invisible, he was here too. Canada! That was it. He was shy and timid, and constantly looking over his shoulder, and his little bear was there too. Kumajiro. They'd sent Canada out to scout around for aliens, since he was just so lucky as to be invisible.

The Canadian in question cautiously peered through the door, only to squeak and withdraw as Belarus flung a knife so close to his face it sheared off a golden lock. "It's only me!" he said in his whispery voice. "Don't kill me!"

SK and Prussia seemed oblivious. For once, Switzerland saw that the Prussian's face was lined with worry. _So you do have a brain in that thick skull of yours,_ the blond thought approvingly.

His attention was drawn back to the conflict escalating in front of him. The bear had leapt out and begun chewing on Belarus's hair ribbon, and the Belarusian's face was purpling with rage. Any moment now something violent was going to happen, something that ended with the bear's viscera all over the walls and a depressed Canadian. Just as another of the blue-eyed nation's knives descended, a shot rang out, knocking it from her hand and denting the blade.

"Stop this!" Switzerland snarled, and turned the recently fired rifle on her. It was a good shot if he said so himself, despite the point blank range. He hadn't nicked her fingers, and the blade was still intact and usable. It would be much more impressive at a longer range, say, ten or twenty feet... _Stop that. _He wheeled his attention outwards again. "We're all on the same side here. Don't antagonize each other or I'll hit you with my peace prize."

From the other side of the room, where apparently he was napping, SK opened one eye and called out "Hitting people with peace prizes originated in me, da-ze!"

It took all of the Swiss nation's formidable will not to blow his head off in that one moment.

"But this stupid bear-" began Belarus, clenching two handfuls of white fur. Switzerland held up his hand. "Shut up. That is not the problem here."

The Belarusian hissed but subsided, throwing Kumajiro to the ground. She stepped forwards, untying the ribbon, and made a show of wiping the slimy, slobbery piece of cloth on his face. The nasty feel of the material did not deter him from bringing his emerald eyes up to meet her murderous stare. The tension between the two of them was so thick she could probably cut it with one of her knives.

_Speaking of her knives_. Switzerland watched out of his peripheral vision as she picked up the dented blade from the floor, never taking her eyes off his. When she next spoke, her voice was a silky purr. "We are almost alike, you and I." She flipped the knife through her fingers in a way that showed off her skill with them. _Puh._ The blond scoffed inwardly. _As if she needs to do that now. _

Belarus stalked around him in a way that reminded him of a predator; lithe, dangerous. The point of the knife trailed lightly around the base of his neck. "We have similar goals. Ones that we both will do almost anything to get back."

Switzerland kept the barrel of his gun pointed at her even as a mental image of Liechtenstein flashed into his mind. _Lili and the broken hourglass._ He wondered what was faster, a bullet or the throw of a knife.

The silver blade was flashing through her fingers as he turned yet again to face her. "I know what I will do to any obstacles in my way." _Yes,_ thought the Swiss nation sarcastically. _You've made your point with the pile of bloody corpses in the corner._

"What will you do?" She brought her face close to his, close enough that he could smell the blood on her.

He remained perfectly still.

Once he'd been walking in his expansive gardens with Lili, long before the hourglass fell. She'd been skipping around, smelling the flowers, delighting in life. He walked close behind her and cautioned her several times not to skip in case she would fall and scrape her knee, but couldn't help the small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Liechtenstein had skipped around the corner, out of his sight, and he increased his paces to catch up.

She was sitting and dangling her toes in one of the many ornamental ponds, splashing the water and giggling as the small fish came up to nibble her toes. She looked up, honey-colored hair falling into her face, her green eyes an invitation to sit next to her. He sighed, but took off his boots and bent to sit. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for his precious sister.

When he looked at her face again, it was pale, her eyes fixed on something just across from the pond. He slowly turned his head, the fall of blond hair on his face sliding sideways until he could see through it.

There was a bear standing on the edge, one huge paw held up for fishing. It was enormous; almost taller than he was, and it was standing on all fours. Sunlight shone golden brown through its amber fur. Intelligent black eyes locked on him and the gun he held in his lap. "Don't move." His orders to Lili were barely audible.

With steady hands, he carefully fitted a round in and aimed it. It would deliver its deadly package through the bear's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger.

_Bang!_ The recoil joggled his arm. The bear stood up, rearing to its full, magnificent height. Switzerland's jaw dropped open. _I missed?_ Only then did he notice the two hands pulling his aim to the side. He turned and gave his sister a questioning look, made harsh by the fact she so recklessly put herself in danger by not letting him kill the bear. "Go away," he said to the bear, standing as well but finding himself a full head shorter.

The bear snarled at him. Switzerland fought the urge to snarl back and didn't move, one hand on his sister's shoulder.

That was how he felt now, as if Belarus was an angry bear and had to be calmed down. The memory of the bear wouldn't make a good analogy here anymore. In the end, the bear had charged him, and only a bullet through the brain had stopped it, in the end.

"That's what I thought." Belarus flipped platinum blond hair over her shoulder, still spinning the knife in dazzling silver flashes. "Nothing."

Rage that she would dismiss his plight -and his sister- so lightly welled up in him. Without thinking, he pulled the trigger. The rifle against his shoulder joggled him. His arm was going to be sore for a while.

Belarus stopped advancing and glanced at the remains of the knife, her face disinterested. She raised an eyebrow. "So that's how it's going to be, сука?"

The blond recognized the word. He must have rattled her, even if she didn't admit it. From what he knew of Belarus, she didn't think much of swearing.

But then again, nobody knew much of Belarus.

"Yes, it is," he said icily. "At least till we have them back."

There was a tinny sound, like a fly's wing beating against the air. He focused on it.

It was Canada's voice. He was saying, "Um, guys, can you stop fighting? This won't end well...Guys..."

Annoyed with himself for ignoring the 'scout', Switzerland turned to the blond. "What did you find, Canada?"

"I found a few of them," he said in his soft voice. "They were being tortured. In many different ways." Obviously even the thought of it was troubling to bear. His violet eyes were watery with tears.

Switzerland had no time for sympathy. Yes, America was his brother, and France was sort of a father-figure, but that was irrelevant. He had his sister to rescue.

"Yes, but do you know where she is?" He asked urgently, and then corrected himself. "Where they are?"

Across the room, Belarus smirked. Aside from her, nobody seemed to notice the flub.

"I only know where the G8 are," said Canada timidly.

"Where?" asked Prussia, engaging himself in the conversation for the first time.

"D-down that way." He gestured vaguely. Kumajiro clung to his leg.

"We're going," said Belarus firmly, and it was Switzerland's turn to smirk at her. Ignoring him, she yanked several knives out of the dead aliens and marched to the door to menace Canada with them. "Where is he?" she growled.

Canada was only capable of making a sound that sounded like "Maple!" in the back of his throat.

Prussia stepped between them. "Hey, hey, cool it, we're all working together here."

Switzerland blinked. That was something surprisingly rational coming out of the madman's mouth.

"...And besides, I'm too awesome to be stabbed to death by a crazy lady just yet."

Any positive thoughts he had about Prussia crashed and burned.

Belarus sneered. "Are you sure of that?"

Prussia sighed. "Listen, I just want to grab my brother and the rest of them and get out of here, okay? I was supposed to be a responsible older brother and look at me now. Technically, I don't even exist." And behind his words, the undercurrent; _I am the worst older brother in the world._

Switzerland tentatively reconsidered the Prussian. _Maybe he wasn't so bad after all..._

"Can we go now, da-ze?" SK also had a serious look on his face. "I want to find aniki." Switzerland didn't know if he was talking about China or Japan, but assumed it didn't really matter.

It seemed that in crisis, the good side was brought out of them all.

Canada scurried through the door, the other four in tow, Belarus walking so fast she kept stepping on the Canadian's heels. Despite his urges to run, run ahead and find them so they can tell him where Lili is, he slowed himself to a sedate pace, shepherding Prussia and SK in front of him.

Once he was sure the room was empty, he shut the door behind him.

* * *

**Out of curiosity, do you care about my random me-centric A/N's or are you like "Ugh, she's talking about her life _again..._"?**

**Translation: сука - bitch.**

**Also, I'm pretty sure Switzerland's 'birthday' is August 1st or somewhere near that. **


	21. In Sickness and in Health

**A friend and I are collaborating on another story on a shared account. It's called 'Our Turbulent Sea of Peace'. On behalf of this new story, I ask you to go find it and R&R, by Seven Thousand, which is us in disguise. Don't ask. :3**

**Also, I have decided abbreviations for SK and HK are stupid. I might forget that though and abbreviate them anyway, but it feels weird. :P**

**Review! :D**

* * *

The memories were gathering, swarming like droves of flies up his legs. He didn't want to fall back into the seamless, never-ending stream. Japan had been around a long, long time, and was still considered young by his older brother. There was no need to become awash.

Or, worse, the memories and the nightmares mixing together as if stirred by a spoon, melding into a howling shriek of madness, 発狂. He would not be able to bear it. It would kill him outright, surer and quicker than any tortures the aliens could conjure up. But maybe that was their point.

The aliens were scarily smart. In his moments of lucidity between the fever heat, he'd analyzed what he'd seen of them while imprisoned and -he flinched, almost- the tortures they improvised. They were scarily smart, with a deep knowledge of psychology, and how did they learn all this? Was it invented on the spot? Japan didn't think so.

Truly, the thought of having these interlopers watch him and his people did not please him. In fact, it sent shivers down his spine.

He closed his eyes, unwilling to think any further on it. Instead, the one guilt-ridden memory appeared, as he knew it would. He'd anticipated its appearance, but even so, he still cringed at its arrival.

_He knocked on the door. China opened it and startled in surprise when he way who it was. His brother had been away for a very long time, and they were currently in a war. Or, at least, their countries were. Was it too much to hope for that their personifications wouldn't be, either? "Oh, _你好_, Japan, come in! I was just making zhongzi!"_

_His hand shaking with what he was about to do, he reached for the sword, resisting the feeling of _having _to do it, having to pull it out. The distinctive ring filled the air. China's brow furrowed in confusion. "_日本,_ what are you doing?"_

_He had to watch the slow march of realization on his ex-brother's face, and he had to angle the sword towards his throat. His troops were going on his boss's orders, and he too was a troop, to be ordered. He was just a troop, albeit a special one..._

_And he had to follow his orders. The damage his troops were doing would be felt in moments anyway; best to disguise the twisted inner pain that would soon arise._ It was only mercy,_ he told himself. _Right?

_Knowing that if he waited a second longer, he would lose his nerve, Japan closed his eyes to block the tears and pushed the sword in front of him._

_China's screams were heard all the way to Europe._

The memory seemed as fresh as if it were yesterday. He broke from the rigid hold, gasping as if he'd surfaced from the bottom of a deep lake. He found tears on his face without much outward surprise.

The problem was, everyone saw him as the withdrawn, isolated nation, with no space in his mind for feeling such petty things as emotion. He only wished it was true.

When people disregarded him, it hurt on the inside. "Oh, don't mind Japan!" Italy had actually said one time. "He's part robot! He has no feelings!" He knew Italy didn't really grasp the concealed insult, and the affectionate Italian had then proceeded to glomp him, but it still shocked him to see that that was what others thought of him. _Am I really like that? Do others perceive me as an emotionless robot?_

He knew his eyes didn't have sparklies like the others, but that didn't mean anything. It was just a quirk. Did it really render him a robot? _He_ didn't think so, but it wasn't his opinion that mattered on this topic.

Each dismissal, each time any feelings he might have were ignored ripped the hole in him wider. If you'd asked him where the hole ways, he'd say it was where his heart used to be. But that was of no big detail, at least not to anyone who might've cared. And to the few people who actually would have, he'd even isolated himself from them. And within it, his oldest brother who unconditionally cared for him, or at least used to all the way up to the betrayal.

_There's nothing I could've done, right?_ He thought wildly. _Right?_

He jerked out of the memory, sweating and feeling dizzier than normal.

Suddenly, Japan wanted nothing more than a hot bowl of soup and to lie down in his room, surrounded by all his cute fuzzy things he collected. He imagined his room. Nice and dark, with the blanket for hiding under. _Yes, that room. _He would give anything to be back there, with the knowledge that the rest of the nations were safe as well.

His head hurt, and his stomach churned. "The ship must be moving," he said to himself, to ward off the loneliness. In his mind, a large black hexagon spun across open space. The image sent a wave of nausea rolling down to his stomach. "Ah..." Japan's voice sounded strange to his ears, like a wind chime or a spiderweb. He shook his head. _I must be going delusional, this fever is making me sick. _He rubbed the sting on his forehead. It felt puffy and inflamed, and slightly damp, as if it were moldering.

He flinched away from touching it when he pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face. _I'm not turning into a zombie, am I?_ Too many horror movies watched with America flooded to the forefront of his mind, and he pushed them away. _I need to focus on the now..._

Except _now_ he was too hot, and his head felt like it weighed 50 pounds and was full of nails, with beads of sweat popping out on his body. So now wasn't the best time to focus on.

And neither was the past. The pain of the most recent memory attested to that. _But it's not as if_ _I could focus on the future...it hasn't happened yet, and abstract wondering is never good..._

Japan lay down on the bench, pillowing his head in his hands. If he tried, really tried, he could call up a benign memory of when he was little, and sick as well. China's given him a warm bowl of soup, and after much cajoling from the smaller nation, even sung him a song. It was a nice song, with a sweet melody, but he'd forgotten what it meant.

He almost thought he heard it then, lying in his cell as he was. Just the faintest echo of words.

_Hǎo yī duǒ mĕi lì de mò li huā..._

Japan jolted up straight, trying not to stagger with the way the ship was slewing back and forth as if it had hit some atmospheric turbulence. He had to find the source of the song. As he braced himself in the corner, hoping the ship wouldn't suddenly pitch him into the crackling bars, he cocked his ears for the next line. He heard...silence.

Just as he was about to hang his head and decide that he'd been hallucinating, he heard it again.

_Hǎo yī duǒ mĕi lì de mò li huā_...

It continued, almost sparkling.

_Fēn fāng měi lì mǎn zhī yā..._

Japan whipped his head around, searching for its source. It remained elusive.

_Yòu xiāng yòu bái rén rén kuā..._

For a moment, he thought he saw a ghostly shape near the bars. Then it was gone, and instead, there was-

"Switzerland?" the Japanese nation asked incredulously, suppressing another swell of nausea as he moved too quickly. "What are you doing here? Can you get us out?"

The other nation spun round, recognition lighting up his features. "Ah, Japan, you are here."

The dark-haired nation almost smiled in relief. "Yes, yes, I am here! Do you know how to get me out?" He _had_ to get out.

The Swiss nation was already turning away. Japan stumbled towards the bars. "Wait!"

Switzerland vanished, quite literally. Japan sagged against the wall and leaned his forehead against the cold metal in despair.

"Aniki?"

A familiar, worried voice assailed his ears. He didn't look up, fearing another hallucination.

"Aniki, it's me! Are you dead, da-ze?"

Japan closed his eyes tighter and put his hands against his ears. "You're not real! Stop bothering me!"

"But, aniki..." The voice sounded hurt. "I _am_ real!"

Japan opened one eye to see South Korea standing at the bars. He peered closer. "Are you all right, da-ze?"

"Don't touch the bars!" Japan nearly screamed as his younger brother's face went too close. South Korea pulled back just in time. Magenta electricity snapped and popped where his face had been moments ago.

"Thanks, aniki. Why are you staggering all over the place like that?"

"Are you really real?"

"Why wouldn't I be real?" South Korea struck a dramatic pose. "Being real originated in me, da-ze!"

Japan still had his doubts. "How did you find me?"

"Well, aniki, we were walking-"

"We?"

"Yeah! Prussia, Belarus, me, Greece is watching the ship, and...hmm..." The Korean tapped his chin with a forefinger. "That guy I forgot, and Switzerland."

"Switzerland's actually here?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't he be? Aniki, what are you doing?"

Japan was kneading his temples with thumb and forefinger. His headache was getting worse. Suddenly, he sat up straight. "Why are you here?"

"To rescue you, of course! Rescuing you originated in me, da-ze!"

"How are you going to get us out?" Japan was once again interested in the conversation.

South Korea shrugged. "I dunno, we haven't got that far yet."

Japan was hopeful anyway. Maybe, by the grace of some celestial being, they could all go home and this nightmare would be over... The ship tilted and he stumbled again.

South Korea squinted at him suspiciously. "Aniki, are you high?"

The outright ridiculousness of the question startled him into a choked laugh. He felt bile rising in his throat. "No, I'm not." He staggered to the left and fell to his knees. "How are you staying still?" asked the Japanese nation, struggling to keep his voice steady. "The ship is moving all over the place."

The Korean frowned. "It's not moving at all, da-ze. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I know I'm not all right," said Japan faintly. His brother's answer only confirmed his suspicions; that he was ill, and not to be trusted.

His stomach lurched, and unable to suppress it anymore, he vomited all over South Korea's shoes. It was the color of the sludge they'd made him eat, or the dirt that covered him head to toe, strangling him..."I'm sorry," gasped the Japanese nation. "I didn't mean to throw up on you-"

South Korea looked alarmed, and he bent to peer closer at his older brother, almost forgetting the screamed warning- "Don't touch the bars!" Electricity crackled out and zapped his face, turning it first flaming hot and then so numb it burned. He jerked back so fast he almost got whiplash. When his vision cleared, Japan was face-down on the floor, unmoving.

"Aniki...?"

No response.

Switzerland, who'd been patrolling the hallway impatiently while some of the nations scoured the walls, glanced over. The cell that contained Japan seemed to be hidden from view by some sort of illusionary shield that could only be broken when the person in the cage was recognized by someone outside it. It was an impressive feat for South Korea to somehow pierce the shield, and now the other nations were combing the walls for any other hidden rooms without shocking themselves like the Korean had. "What's going on?"

The Asian was pale. "Japan just passed out. I think he's sick, da-ze. Have you figured out how to open the cages yet? Rescuing them all originated in me..." His voice drooped off.

Switzerland shook his head. "Not yet. But soon."

South Korea nodded his assent and began sliding his hands along the walls. Finding his other aniki was more important than pain. Switzerland walked past him to where he'd stationed Belarus as watch, despite her insistence that she help find her brother. "Have you seen anything?"

"No," she said sullenly. "Prussia and the other one wanted to go upstairs, though, and they haven't come back."

"Which direction?" inquired the Swiss nation, suddenly worried. _If they screw up, if they give up our presence..._

"Find out yourself, мудак,'' spat the Belarusian venomously, flipping a knife out of her sleeve for a moment before sliding it back in. The threat was clearly evident in her glare.

Ignoring the threat, he continued down the hallway and sure enough, found some stairs. He took the steps two at a time, and, checking his gun, whirled around the corner to find-

Canada glued to a window, transfixed, a look of horror on his face, his bear curled up asleep on his feet. Prussia was nowhere to be found. The hall was empty and threat-free. In three large steps, Switzerland crossed it and put his hand on Canada's shoulder. "What do you see?"

"Look for yourself," replied the traumatized Canadian, stepping aside to make room.

Switzerland pressed his face to the glass, his eyes darting around before settling on the centerpiece. There was a flayed-open form, organs suspended above it in greenish bubbles, and blood dripping languidly through clear tubes. Aliens were scurrying around, prodding the body and taking notes. Horror squirmed up inside him when he saw half a face draped on a frame. "Is that..." he began.

The aliens adjusted the cadaverous form, and Switzerland's fear was confirmed. It _was_ America. "But that's...that's not even possible." breathed the Swiss nation, voice laden with disbelief.

"Apparently it is," whispered the Canadian sadly. "He was always kind of a jerk, but he was my _brother. _He didn't deserve to be..." He exhaled shakily and looked down. "Oh, maple...And neither did the rest of them."

"The rest of them?" Switzerland stood up straighter, fearing for his sister. "Who did you see?" His voice was nearly frantic."Who was it?"

Kumajiro opened one eye and yawned before settling down again as the Canadian began. "I saw France and England as well. And they..." He couldn't make himself go on.

Switzerland nodded, feeling a deep gush of relief that his sister had not been so brutally mistreated. To assuage the awkward silence that now filled the hall, he asked, "Where's Prussia?"

Only to be confronted with an empty stare. "He ran off to find his brother before anything like this could happen to them."

Switzerland gripped Canada's shoulders with painful force. "But where is-"

"Gone." The bespectacled blond shrugged. "I just don't know."

* * *

**Translations:**

** 発狂 - insanity, madness, et****c. [Japanese] **

**你好 - hello [Chinese]**

**日本 - Japan **

**мудак - Asshole [Belarusian]**

**The song that Japan remembers is a traditional Chinese song called 'Mo Li Hua,' (**茉莉花**) or Jasmine Flower. My Chinese teacher had tried to make my class sing this song. It didn't work very well. As in, he was just singing it by himself and all eleven students were staring at him until he ordered us to sing with him. Then we all sat there, awkwardly muttering the words. Good times. Sort of.**


	22. Separated

**School's started again. UGH SCHOOL BOO sad face. And I've gotten what, seven updates during the summer? XD I still have a lot to write. And by a lot, I mean a ****_lot._**** I wonder if there's an upper limit to the number of chapters...as in, one and a half notebooks full of writing ATM and one has 25+ chapters, the other ****I haven't counted but it has at least that many. You'd think I'd update faster. **

**Not mentioning all the embellishments I'm adding to the original plot, because the original was falling into the stereotypical writing formula things that everyone can predict the ending to, and new stuff was released in The Beautiful World that I hadn't previously known about. I suspect this story will conclude under triple digit chapters.. I'm not trying to write a novel here...**

**Sometimes people write down songs they were listening to when they were updating chapters or something. I can tell you that a large portion of this chapter was formed off of ten thousand repeats of Capricco Farce and World's End Dancehall [V8 chorus version].**

**Language warning: Contains Prussia, which is less than Romano.**

**Without further ado, I present; the next chapter.**

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Prussia was wandering aimlessly, thoroughly lost. There was a big ball of unpleasant feeling lodged in his throat. There was a very real possibility that he would get lost and die here, as there were only four others (not counting a certain sleeping Grecian) and Switzerland wouldn't spare the people to walk forever in these alien halls.

He'd only wanted to see what was around the corner from the Hall of Torture, and then he must've made a couple wrong turns somewhere because now he was absolutely one-hundred percent lost. _Lost, lost, lost..._He sighed again.

The hall he was wandering in abruptly terminated in a large door made of opaque aqua glass. With a bit of effort, he opened it.

And closed it quickly.

For beyond that door, aliens were everywhere. Not just the tall, slim, scorpion-tailed ones he'd seen, but ones that were thickset and burly, with a mantle of dark fur covering their bodies. He opened it a crack and peeked through.

It appeared to be a kind of factory. Alien overseers (the evil variety) stood tall on short platforms, holding barbed whips in their hands-hands? The aliens he'd seen had had claws- while the furry ones swarmed below them around conveyor belts, a multitude of thin, dexterous arms weaving metal into gray squares that glowed green and blue. Prussia slipped inside, curiosity overwhelming any fear he might've had. He crouched behind a bin and looked closer.

The fuzzy aliens had small hairless snouts and large, bottomless eyes that reminded him of cow eyes. Small, rounded teeth protruded a little ways from the mouth, and a skinny, droopy tail poked out from the tangled fur. They didn't seem overly harmful, more like mindless work animals, except smarter. He was pretty sure cows couldn't assemble whatever the thingies were. He paused for a moment. _Now there's an interesting thought..._ Shaking the thoughts of genius cows taking over the world from his mind, he refocused on the activity in front of him.

One of the fuzzy creatures abruptly fell asleep, dark eyes closing. The blurring arms fell still. A moment later, a whip crack above its head made it jump, and immediately begin reassembling whatever it was. The pale-skinned alien pulled the whip to itself and tasted the transparent fluid dripping from it. The albino shuddered._ Eugh._

Prussia noticed a familiar-looking pipe poking out of a bin a little ways away from him.

He hated Russia. Part of his old land had been absorbed into the intimidating nation. And aside from that, the other had strangled him after rescuing him from a dunking in freezing water in winter. But they were all in this together. Maybe bringing the pipe back to him would make the Russian that much less likely to kill him.

He groaned. _I'm an idiot. An awesome one._

Carefully tucking Gilbird into his shirt so the bird wouldn't fall out or cause trouble, he began slowly inching his way across the miles and miles of open space. With every jerk of the tall aliens' heads, he flinched and edged closer to the backs of the furry aliens. He found that they didn't pay attention to the stray human in their midst, and after a little expirementation he was able to crawl between their bodies and the conveyor belts without any problems.

A minute later, he popped out of the 'alien express' as he dubbed it, near the bin. A quick dash later and a check to make sure Gilbird was still there, he was at the bin. Without taking his eyes of the aliens, he picked up the pipe. It was heavier than it looked, and he wondered how the Russian could carry it and swing it around with ease. Then he glanced inside the bin. There was a stick of chalk, a rose (knowing France, he left the flower alone), a jumbo-sized pack of 'Just add water, PASTA!', and a scrunched up beer can, mostly empty, but somehow still good.

Prussia finished the beer himself, grudgingly admiring his brother's taste in beer, and pocketed the pasta. Now came the trouble of getting out again. There was the problem of the million-pound pipe he was lugging behind him, and, worse, the alien overseer nearest to him had finished licking the end of the barb and was once again scanning the room.

He took a few steps towards the door. Something gave under his foot, and he looked down.

The skinny, useless little tails of the creature were apparently very sensitive. Also, that made them very strong, in much the same manner as a man -or nation- fueled by desperation could endure for much longer than normal.

The alien squealed and thrashed around, overturning the conveyor belt, and knocking into the other furry ones. They started panicking as well, until the way to the door was blocked by a roiling mass of furry bodies. Without sparing a glance behind him, he knew the alien's eyes were fixed on him.

He ran, swinging the pipe wildly at anything that got in his way, the pale aliens hot on his trail. He burst through the doors, chaos behind him. Prussia ran blindly down the hall, Gilbird flapping after, and the pipe weighing down one side of his body so he lurched awkwardly through the maze. His awesome lungs burned, and he was forced to admit that his awesome plan might not've been so awesome. His arms were starting to burn from the strain of the pipe.

"Fuck!" he yelled as he careened around a corner and nearly fell, counterbalanced by the pipe just in time. "I'm too fucking awesome to die!"

Awesome or not, he was losing ground. A claw snatched the back of his white hair, and something snapped through the space his arm had been a moment ago, which only made him run faster. Gilbird alighted on his shoulder and held on with small claws.

All this running was taking its toll, though; the air whooshed through his lungs in gasps and his legs were burning as he skidded around corners, sliding off the rails of stairs when it was too long to spring down them. He only went down, the wrong direction from what he perceived as safety, in the direction his malfunctioning inner GPS told him Switzerland and his companions were in. But down was the only way he could go.

The variegated shades of white and gray pattering the walls were blindingly bright all of a sudden, the lights increasing in intensity as he ran, and briefly blinded, he tripped and only had time to swing the pipe in an arc above him. He crashed to the ground, but it was worth it; a stinger glanced off of it with a loud ring that echoed inside his head instead of embedding itself in his eye.

The alien nearest to him caught its clawed foot on his calf and tripped as well, landing on top of him, mutant mouth looking ready to tear out his throat. The pipe was pressed between them. For a few, impossibly long seconds, the albino bore the weight of a seven-foot-tall pissed off alien that was scrabbling at where he thought his major blood vessels were.

_I can't breathe..._

And then the weight was off, rolled to the side, swiping at a yellow burst of feathers as it pecked at is eyes.

"Gilbird!" he cried in a gasp that was more of a gurgle, his lungs opening up again. That distracted the bird enough for an errant swing to knock it out of the air, where the foot was already lifted to flatten his precious, beloved pet into the ground. Without thinking of anything else, forgetting the pipe, Prussia dove forwards, skinning his elbows on the floor to rescue the bird. Three tails whipped overhead, and pain exploded on his back. Rapidly fading into unconsciousness, he reached out with fumbling fingers and wrapped his hands around something, pulling it to his chest.

And then he dropped into silence like a stone.

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**I swear I love that bird to death. Review! :D**


	23. Doubt

**I snagged another phrase from that marvelous paradigm of horror series, The Monstrumologist. I do that a lot. Stealing phrases, I mean. Just saying. If Rick Yancey is somehow reading my series and recognizes phrases from his own works, I GIVE YOU ALL CREDIT SIR AND AM EAGERLY AWAITING THE RELEASE OF BOOK 4 WITH ALL MY HEART**

**I _must_ learn Capricco Farce and Cantarella piano versions or my life will not be complete. I've got a lot of work in for me...**

******Updating schedule is more erratic than usual because I'm also working on 'Our Turbulent Sea of Peace' with A Field of Starlight, as probably mentioned before.**

**Review! :D**

* * *

Nothing is real.

_Shut up._

Nothing is real. You're insane, and everyone hates you.

_SHUT UP._

They can't see your friends, and they hate you. You have no friends.

_I have no reason to believe you._

Your friends aren't real. You're insane.

_THEY ARE REAL, YOU WANKER. YOU AREN'T._

Am I? Am I just a figment, or am I birthed of reality?

England was trapped inside his head, screaming and hammering to get out, and the oppressive _voice_ was filling every corner of his mind. This voice was a recurring thing. It happened all the time. Mostly when he was wasted, yes, so it could be nonexistent, but it was just too _alive, _too_...something. _Indescribable.

The voice in his head was full of loathing and he didn't trust himself anymore than he trusted it. IT. It felt like it should be capitalized, a full set of tall lines. That's how important It was.

_And it will fool you into worshipping it,_ whispered the still sane part of his mind. _Never..._ And it was drowned out by screaming.

England slammed the palms of his hands against his ears, attempting to beat the voice out. _You'll only give yourself a concussion, _noted the sanity. _And why shouldn't you?_ lilted the voice. _Everybody hates you... _It felt like two opposing sides were fighting for control of his brain, and he didn't completely trust them. He was rendered a bystander of his own thoughts...It was not a feeling he liked.

It's not as if he hadn't hallucinated before. It's not as if this hasn't happened before.

America, walking back through the door after the war that had torn them apart. Running forwards to embrace his younger brother, setting up a room for him, and things went back to the way they were. It'd been a week of joy for England. Until one day, France'd come over to annoy him, and asked why he'd had an extra teacup at the table. And just like that, America had shimmered into nothing.

England had stared into his tea, realization like a slap in the face. France had realized something was wrong, that it wasn't his teasing that had needled the Brit into silence, and had left.

Afterwards, the voices resurfaced, louder than ever.

So many fakes, and what was the reality to declare itself the truth?

Things were sliding out of control.

His fake calm cracked like dried mud, and he saw the face of the horror that lurked one-ten-thousandth of a second beyond his field of vision. _Madness, _both voices whispered, and a third voice screamed. He realized, to his surprise, it was his.

Shards of a field of white roses like new snow-

_DON'T GO BACK, ENGLAND._

And the air shimmered and smoked and vibrated, thrumming with the uncurling release of something inhuman, the reservoir of madness testing its bounds, and in the center was-

_NO- _With a powerful mental wrench, he twisted the very fabric of nowhere and the fearful thing coalescing suddenly sharpened into a well. The well shivered on the lurching ground, the stones oozing blood that spread through the roses. The roses absorbed the crimson, sucking it up through the roots, turning a brilliant crimson, and then wilting to ashes as the arms of blood made their inexorable progress towards him.

The vibrating air was cold, and his breath made fog that added to the boundless whiteness just past him. Nothing was safe here, in this world of pale nothingness, and he could not back up against the fog, nor could he advance to the lake of bloody ashes forming just before him. In his peripheral vision, a gaping, ghostly face coalesced out of the fog, and he leaped away, gasping in fright.

England suddenly became aware of a thumping pulsating _thud-up. Thud-up._ Like a heartbeat. He raged futilely on the slippery slope of crushed roses. All pretenses of control were out the metaphorical window.

As if to mock him, a window briefly formed in the fog before dissipating.

The air in the rose field stank of iron and metal, or rust, of blood. The black, red-soaked earth gave way under his feet, and he sprang back to safety, ankle-deep in the blood roses. The world was filling with black cracks that splintered even the air, and the heartbeat grew only louder and faster as he swam in the airless miasma below the dripping earth. Gibbering, screaming voices filled his ears and squirmed past his weak defenses until he was awash with his own insanity.

He came up for air - _what air, in the world that is all alone-_ and couldn't move, frozen as he thought he'd escaped it.

There was his house, his garden... England sprinted across, up his front porch, which felt real and solid under his feet and fingers, and nearly whooped for joy, running back to his yard and raking his fingers through the grass. He threw the stems up in the air like confetti.

It was, after all, all a dream, emerging from the chrysalis of tormented nightmares to life. _I should probably see a psychologist, _he thought giddily. Already the dream was fading from his memory-

Inexpressibly cheerful, England took the old skeleton key and unlocked the front door.

Blood rushed out in a wave, waist high, knocking him backwards, and the cheerful blue sky of moment before darkened to black and gray, a wind rushing through the skeletons of trees that had just withered to winter. He floundered, and suddenly the wave dragged him back indoors, past the desiccated corpses of his companions -_not friends, they hate you-_ hanging upside-down from the ceiling, blank features seeming to accuse him. _This is all your fault._

Then the blood splashed half up one of his red-wallpapered halls - why was that ever a good idea, red for the wallpaper- and swirled him around, pausing to batter down a door that hadn't been there before, pulling him straight down a set of stairs until he was just falling, hitting every bone in his body on the way down, and at the very bottom lurked It.

England's wandering consciousness snapped back into his body suddenly, and he'd screamed his already raw throat dry. Blood gurgled in his lungs, and he spat it out, sweat dripping from his face to mix with the red fluid. The holes bored under his skin throbbed with the familiar rhythm; _thud-up, thud-up, thud-up._ He hissed when his racking coughs jostled the worst nest of burrowing holes, and kept his palms over his ears, fearing a resurfacing of the voices, of It.

Utterly drained, he collapsed, a tight knot in his chest screaming _madness, madness, madness._

England seemed to be rational.

He was not.

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**I feel like I'm terrible at writing these sorts of things...*flails around***


	24. Outside

**So at school the AC burnt out, and temperatures were in excess of 100 degrees. Or maybe not quite that hot, but it was stuffy, humid, and overall terrible. THEY LET US HOME EARLY~! I'm so happy about that. *ahem***

**Let me know if I messed up Poland's speaking patterns or mannerisms. **

**Review! :D**

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Lithuania was worried.

It'd been about a day, as far as he could tell, since the attack to the ships, and the results were devastating. Several cities lay ruined, charred by the silent lasers. Smoke steamed into the air from the wreckage of several planes. And, most worrying, not a single one of the six nations that had gone up again had come back down, or even radioed a message. _I hope they're all right._

He thought about Belarus. She was so beautiful, with that cascade of blond hair and those ice blue eyes and her shapely figure. More than anything he wished he could take her in his arms and kiss her. _Ah, Belarus..._

"You're thinking about Belarus again, aren't you." interrupted Latvia, who was sitting across from him.

The three Baltics were just sitting on a rock in a field in the park, needing some time to themselves to think and just unwind. There was no point in trying to assemble another meeting all stressed, because then absolutely nothing productive would come of it. Poland was there too, but he was chasing butterflies. Estonia was napping, or, in his words, 'earning some much-needed rest', and Hong Kong was off with his family. _I wish I had a family... _thought Latvia wistfully. _Lithuania and Estonia could be my older brothers, and it would be nice..._

"How did you know?" asked Lithuania in surprise.

"Your eyes get soft looking, and you stare off into the distance or at random things and you look at whatever it is like you want to marry it." Latvia responded.

"Yeah..."

"Why do you like her so much?" Latvia broke into the Lithuanian's fantasies again.

"Well...well..." Lithuania stammered.

Latvia counted on his fingers. "She's a knife-wielding maniac, she loves Russia, _and_ she broke all your fingers once and you didn't even notice."

"Yes," sighed Lithuania, who obviously wasn't listening. "But she's beautiful and strong and I just _like_ her. And she's nice."

At that, the blond burst out laughing so loudly that Poland stopped for a moment to look over curiously. "Belarus?" the Latvian sputtered. "_Nice?_"

"What?" asked Lithuania crossly. "Why're you laughing? What's so funny?"

"You...you really mean it." Latvia managed, and then went off again. After a moment, the blond managed to catch his breath. "Are you kidding?" One look into Lithuania's green eyes told him that no, he was not, and the Latvian almost erupted into giggles again.

"Did you not hear a single thing I just said?"

A wrinkle formed between the brunette's eyebrows. "No..."

Latvia sighed and repeated himself. "All right. She's a knife-wielding maniac, she's not interested, and she broke all your fingers. It's not like she's, I don't know, MADE OF PURE EVIL, maybe?"_  
_

"Belarus is none of those things!" Lithuania protested. "She's lovely."

Latvia went into gales of uncontrollable laughter.

The brunette scowled at him again, and was about to retort when another tremor shook the earth.

They sobered. It was too easy to forget the harsh realities of the outside world, and the havoc the aliens were causing on the nations' land.

Russia had been burnt in a spontaneous white flame that had spewed straight from the earth, like a white geyser, burning through miles until it was finally vanquished by a blizzard in some areas, and sprayed down in others. It was now under control.

According to Cuba, America had had an awful earthquake stretching from North Carolina to the very tip of California. _Giant_ earthquakes, like in movies, where the ground pulled apart and mashed back together and yanked apart again. The rumor was that if one peered down the still-present rift, they could see the glow of magma at the bottom.

Taiwan had gone to investigate the eastern areas. She said that the people of Japan were suffering from a mysterious plague that cut swaths through the population, and the people in China were quarantined and in basic anarchy. The government had retreated to a safer area, leaving the people in chaos.

France was plagued by severe thunderstorms, bordering on hurricanes. There had been frequent reports of floods, and the numbers of the injured were rising. England had the corner of that storm, but the main problem there were the sinkholes; huge tracts of land suddenly collapsing underfoot.

Northern Italy had gone absolutely insane. There were mobs charging everywhere, and arsonists were igniting fires that the Southern forces were extinguishing just as quickly. Romano was doing his best to try and maintain control, but he wasn't the best suited for it, and didn't have much back up, what with Italy and Spain missing.

Surprisingly enough, the land of Germany was almost all right. When Hungary had gone to check on the place, all that was off was the eerie silences in the streets. No one was talking, and everyone kept their eyes down.

Lithuania knew what had happened in the world was a semi-mirror to the nations. They could feel this pain.

A small, sarcastic thought said, _What would happen if the Eiffel Tower fell down?_ It was a cruel thought, but he couldn't help his laughter, Latvia giving him a weird look.

"Sorry," said Lithuania. "My brain just came up with this little random thought."

"There's a first time for everything!" said Latvia cheerfully, and Lithuania gave him a flat look before repeating the little thought. For the third time that day, the blond was laughing.

_He actually looks happy,_ thought the brunette, smiling at his friend. _He hasn't truly looked happy for a while._

Estonia sat up, disgruntled. "What are you all laughing about?"

Stifling small giggles, Latvia said, "Nothing."

At that moment, the twice-daily downpour started. Water crashed into the earth in long ropes. "Crapola!" they heard Poland shout from somewhere in the field. "I, like, haven't even got one butterfly yet! We're totally gonna get wet!"

The four of them darted towards the trees. Lithuania felt his worries return. Brooding silently, he stared at the rain. _What are we going to do?_

Poland snuck up behind him, pink ribbons in hand. The blond dexterously twisted the Lithuanian's hair into braids, nimble fingers finishing several in no time. The brunette remained oblivious until Poland gave a sharp yank.

"Ow!" One of Lithuania's hands flew to his scalp. "Poland, what are you doing?"

"I'm, like, obviously braiding your hair." Poland pointed to the braids, which the brunette couldn't see.

Lithuania sighed. "Please undo them. I don't want my hair braided."

Poland pouted. "But you'd be _totally _adorable!"

"I don't want to look adorable!"

Poland grumpily went to the task of unraveling the damp braids. Lithuania went back to his worrying, staring into a rapidly growing puddle at his feet. He watched his distorted reflection shiver with ripples of raindrops. He worried about Belarus, about the rest of them, about the Earth.

He looked up to find Estonia and Latvia staring at him with big smiles on their faces.

"What? What is it?"

"I fixed your hair!" chirped Poland brightly.

With growing horror, Lithuania lifted a hand to his hair and felt the ends of lacy little ribbons tying his hair into loops.

"_Poland!"_

The other three started to laugh as Lithuania tore at the ribbons with his hands, trying to make his hair fall back into its normal waves. In the midst of this chaos, his phone rang. He fished it out, one hand shielding it from the rain. "What?"

On the other end, he heard the voice of one of his trusted advisers. _"We weren't able to stop the fire in Russia."_

Lithuania stopped pulling at his hair. "What? Didn't you say you'd-"

_"We thought that we'd beaten it._"

"What about the rain? Isn't that helping any?"

"_Ne, it just evaporates. It has to snow for it to overwhelm the flames."_

"Is it spreading?"

There was a moment of silence. "_Yes. It's already-"_

At that point, Lithuania's hand burned with sudden pain, and he dropped his phone. It squelched into the mud, and the faint crackle of a voice came through. _"Sveiki? Lietuva?"_

The nation in question ignored it and attempted to stop the phantom pain in his hand.

"What is it, Liety?" Poland looked worried.

"My hand," gritted the Lithuanian. "My country is on fire. The house-" His eyes went wide, and he sprinted away.

Latvia looked worried. "Could it spread to us, too?"

Estonia picked up the phone. "This is Estonia, Lithuania's friend. Please tell me the fire's statistics."

The man on the other end hesitated for a moment before continuing. "_There is a good chance the fire could spread to you as well. You may want to go back to see what you could do. Geriausios kloties." _The line went dead.

Latvia had heard every word, and the other two Baltics took off. The rain was marginally less hard now, and a thick fog was rising up.

"What about me?" said Poland to the air. "I, like, need a ride, too. And some of those were my favorite ribbons." He plucked a few off the ground and wiped mud off of them. "Oh, look, Liet's phone. I should, like, call him later to see if he's okay." He slipped the phone into his pocket. The Polish nation trudged off in the direction the others had gone.

Poland almost didn't see the aliens. The pounding rain disguised their squelching footsteps in the mud, and the fog disguised the rest of them. At the very last moment, he heard a twig crack behind him, and he turned partially around before taking a stinger to the knee.

"Like, _OW!_" Poland shouted before fire shot up through is veins and silver slid out of his mouth.

A light pierced the permanent darkness and pulled up the two forms.

And all was still again.

* * *

**Translation:**

Ne - no (Lithuanian)

Sveiki? Lietuva? - Hello? Lithuania? (Lithuanian)

Geriausios kloties. - Best of luck. (Lithuanian)

**These recent chapters have all been under 2000 words, but that's the price of updating relatively quickly. I think. **


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